“Yes; there’s a regular mob of fighting-men crowding round those fellows, and they’re holding a regular meeting.”
“Good little glass. I say, old man, I’ll swop with you. Mine’s a bigger and better-looking binoc. than yours. Anything else?”
“One of the party—I think it’s the one with the scar on his face, but I can’t be sure—”
“Can’t you tell him?”
“Not at this distance.”
“Then I won’t swop. It’s not such a good glass as I thought. Well, what next?”
“He’s telling his experiences, and the beggars are lancing about, roaring with laughter.”
“Can you see that?”
“Yes, quite plainly.”
“Then I think I will swop, after all. Can’t hear what they say, I suppose?”