Sam said they did, and was quite vehement about it. Bert confirmed his answer. At this, Barr turned and spoke to Flamank.
"Put them with the London group. What is there left in fifty-one, twenty-seven?"—meaning township and range. He stood up and leaned over the table, whilst Flamank fished among a pile of papers.
"How would this place suit you?" Barr asked, indicating on the map with his finger an attractive square situated about six hundred miles north-west of Winnipeg.
Bert carefully examined the location. "It looks very nice," he said, after a moment or two.
"It's 'andsome, I calls it," observed Sam, who had squeezed his chunky self in between the little red-nosed man and Bert.
As this was the first map Sam had ever inspected, his opinion naturally went a long way with his new pal. The place on the plan to which Barr had referred was a pretty pale-blue section bordered in brown, nicely-shaded, and with a couple of wavy lines—war-paths, probably, thought Bert, who was slightly romantic—running across it obliquely. After a little pause to consider the matter, Bert said:
"It's a delightful place, really. That'll suit us fine, won't it, Sam?"
Sam thought it was "the best bit of land 'e'd ever clapped eyes on." They were both immensely in love with the location.
Barr, through his A.D.C., allotted them adjoining homesteads. Flamank, with pen poised over paper, looked at Bert and said: "Name, please."
"Bertrand Paul Tressider."