“I don’t think you’d have liked it, Mr. Clinton. We had a hard time. We had to wade through mud and mire, and sleep on the ground, and twice we were captured by bushrangers. They wanted Jack and myself to join the band.”
“You don’t say so—really?”
“They might have made you a bushranger, Mr. Clinton, if they had caught you.”
“I never would consent, never!” said Mr. Clinton, with emphasis.
Jack smiled at the idea of the elegant Mr. Clinton being transformed into an outlaw and bushranger.
“I am awfully glad I did not go with you,” he said, shuddering.
“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.”