“Yes. Got any cartridges?”
“Oh yes, everything complete; the man saw to that.”
“Look sharp, then,” said Kenneth; and he had a hearty laugh as he saw his new companion go upstairs.
In spite of the admonition to look sharp, Max was some few minutes before he descended. For the first thing he saw on reaching his bedroom were his two pairs of trousers, neatly folded, and lying upon a chair.
The gun was forgotten for the minute, and it was not long before the kilt was exchanged for the southern costume in the form of tweeds, Max sighing with satisfaction as he once more felt quite warmly clad.
Kenneth laughed as Max reappeared with his gun and cartridge belt in his hand.
“Hallo!” he said; “soon tired of looking Scotch.”
“I—I’m not used to it,” said Max apologetically. “And never will be if you go on like that.”
“But I found my own things in my room, and it did not seem right to keep on wearing yours.”
“Wonder where they were?” said Kenneth dryly.