"Let me make you acquainted with my friend, Mr. Obed Stackpole, Mr. Clinton," said Harry. "He was with us in all our trials and dangers."
Montgomery Clinton surveyed Obed with evident curiosity. The long gaunt figure of the Yankee was clad in a loose rough suit which was too large for him, and Clinton shuddered at the barbarous way in which he was attired.
"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stickpole," he said politely.
"Stackpole, if it's all the same to you, friend Clinton," corrected Obed. "Glad to see any friend of Harry's and Jack's. You look as if you had just come out of a bandbox."
"Ob, thank you," said the gratified dude. "You're awfully kind. My friends think I have a little taste in dress."
"My friends never paid me that compliment," said Obed. "Say, how do you like my fit out?"
"I—I don't think they have very good tailors in Australia," said Clinton hesitatingly.
"Have you as many pairs of trousers as ever, Mr. Clinton?" asked Harry.
"I have only nineteen, Mr. Vane, but I shall order some more soon."
"Nineteen pairs of breeches!" ejaculated Obed in amazement. "What in the name of Jehoshaphat do you want of so many?"