So I came by way of a thicket along an old stone fence to the by-road, and there, sure enough, only a little way ahead of me, was my man with the shaggy little dog close at his heels. He was making pretty good time, but I skirted swiftly along the edge of the road until I had nearly overtaken him. Then I slowed down to a walk and stepped out into the middle of the road. I confess my heart was pounding at a lively rate. The next time he looked behind him—guiltily enough, too!—I said in the calmest voice I could command:
“Well, brother, you almost left me behind.”
He stopped and I stepped up to him.
I wish I could describe the look in his face—mingled astonishment, fear, and defiance.
“My friend,” I said, “I'm disappointed in you.”
He made no reply.
“Yes, I'm disappointed. You did such a very poor job.”
“Poor job!” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” I said, and I slipped my bag off my shoulder and began to rummage inside. My companion watched me silently and suspiciously.
“You should not have left the rubbers.”