“Take the horse then,” said Crellock good-humouredly. “I don’t want it!”
“You know I’m too old to ride it, you dog, or you wouldn’t offer it.”
“There, you see, when a fellow does want to turn over a new leaf you good people won’t let him.”
“Won’t let him? Where’s your book and where’s your leaf?”
“Book? Oh, I’m the book, Sir Gordon, and you won’t listen to what’s on the leaf.”
Sir Gordon seated himself on a great tussock of soft grass, took out his gold-rimmed glasses, put them on deliberately and stared up at the great, fine-looking, bronzed man.
“Hah!” he said at last. “You, a man who can talk like that! Why, you might have been a respectable member of society, and here you are—”
“Out on pass in a convict settlement. Say it, Sir Gordon. Well, what wonder? It all began with Hallam when I was a weak young fool, and thought him with his good looks and polished ways a sort of hero. I got into trouble with him; he escaped because I wouldn’t tell tales, and I had to bear the brunt, and after that I never had a chance.”
“Ah, there was a nice pair of you.”
Crellock groaned and seemed about to turn away, but the man’s good genius had him tightly gripped that day, and he smiled again.