The dog shivered and whimpered; he seemed to want to get away from the crowd.
“But then, you see, you ain’t going to carry that swag through the streets, are you?” asked the cabman.
“Why not? Who’ll stop me! There ain’t no law agin it, I b’lieve?”
“But then, you see, it don’t look well, you know.”
“Ah! I thought we’d get to it at last.”
The traveller up-ended his bluey against his knee, gave it an affectionate pat, and then straightened himself up and looked fixedly at the cabman.
“Now, look here!” he said, sternly and impressively, “can you see anything wrong with that old swag o’ mine?”
It was a stout, dumpy swag, with a red blanket outside, patched with blue, and the edge of a blue blanket showing in the inner rings at the end. The swag might have been newer; it might have been cleaner; it might have been hooped with decent straps, instead of bits of clothes-line and greenhide—but otherwise there was nothing the matter with it, as swags go.
“I’ve humped that old swag for years,” continued the bushman; “I’ve carried that old swag thousands of miles—as that old dog knows—an’ no one ever bothered about the look of it, or of me, or of my old dog, neither; and do you think I’m going to be ashamed of that old swag, for a cabby or anyone else? Do you think I’m going to study anybody’s feelings? No one ever studied mine! I’m in two minds to summon you for using insulting language towards me!”
He lifted the swag by the twisted towel which served for a shoulder-strap, swung it into the cab, got in himself and hauled the dog after him.