“Cab, Sir!”
The swagman turned slowly and regarded cabby with a quiet grin.
“Now, do I look as if I want a cab?”
“Well, why not? No harm, anyway—I thought you might want a cab.”
Swaggy scratched his head, reflectively.
“Well,” he said, “you’re the first man that has thought so these ten years. What do I want with a cab?”
“To go where you’re going, of course.”
“Do I look knocked up?”
“I didn’t say you did.”
“And I didn’t say you said I did.... Now, I’ve been on the track this five years. I’ve tramped two thousan’ miles since last Chris’mas, and I don’t see why I can’t tramp the last mile. Do you think my old dog wants a cab?”