"At the Packhorse on the York Road. I came that way round for the sake
of the surface and the exercise."
"And did you see the check?"
"No, I only stopped for a moment, to find out what the excitement was
about; but the fellow I can see now. You never set eyes on such a
pirate--gloriously drunk and bearded to the belt. I didn't stop, because
he was lacing into everybody with a cushion, and the local loafers
seemed to like it."
"What a joke!" cried Sybil Venables.
"There is no accounting for taste," remarked her sapient sister.
"And he was belaboring them with a cushion, did you say?" added Rachel,
with the slightest emphasis upon the noun.
"Well, it looked like one to me," replied Langholm, "but, on second
thoughts, it was more like a bolster in shape; and now I know what it
was! It has just dawned on me. It looked like a bolster done up in a
blanket; but it was the swag that the tramps carry in Australia, with
all their earthly goods rolled up in their bedding; and the fellow was
an Australian swagsman, that's what he was!"
"Swagman," corrected Rachel, instinctively. "And pray what color was the
blanket?" she made haste to add.
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