“Don’t blunt it,” admonished the youth in the cart; “it’s got a razor edge on.”
Tom felt the alleged razor edge critically with his thumb.
“It’s more like the back of a axe,” he said, kneeling down and stabbing the blade into the right-hand corner of the bag. He split about six inches there, then performed a similar operation on the left-hand corner, and holding the mouth of the bag up inserted his legs into the splits.
“Gimme a bit of string for the waistband,” he said. “How does she fit be’ind?”
“She fits like ole Harry,” said Dave. “By gosh! she fits you all over and don’t touch you nowhere.”
Tom twisted his neck over his shoulder and caught sight of the bulge behind.
Then the humour of the thing seized both boys, and they laughed. Dave sprawled all over the seat of the cart laughing, and Tom rolled on the buffalo grass kicking his heels in the air and laughing. Then he got up and capered round like a clown in a circus to make Dave laugh more. Next he stood on his head against a bean tree and gave Dave still another lease of joy.
They were as happy and as merry as any two boys of thirteen summers on the face of the Australian continent. But the sun was getting high, and presently Dave remembered.
“By gosh!” he cried, seizing the reins, “I’ll get into it.”