This expedition involved a preliminary walk of four miles, which they all preferred to being driven to the scene of action in a dog-cart.
Junkie was a little fellow for his age, but remarkably intelligent, active, bright and strong. From remarks made by various members of the Gordon family and their domestics, both Jackman and his servant had been led to the conclusion that the boy was the very impersonation of mischief, and were more or less on the look out for displays of his propensity; but Junkie walked demurely by their side, asking and replying to questions with the sobriety of an elderly man, and without the slightest indication of the latent internal fires with which he was credited.
The truth is, that Junkie possessed a nature that was tightly strung and vibrated like an Aeolian harp to the lightest breath of influence. He resembled, somewhat, a pot of milk on a very hot fire, rather apt to boil over with a rush; nevertheless, he possessed the power to restrain himself in a simmering condition for a considerable length of time. The fact that he was fairly out for the day with two strangers, to whom he was to show the pools where salmon and sea-trout lay, was a prospect so charming that he was quite content to simmer.
“D’ee know how to fish for salmon?” he asked, looking gravely up in Jackman’s face, after they had proceeded a considerable distance.
“Oh, yes, Junkie; I know how to do it. I used to fish for salmon before I went to India.”
“Isn’t that the place where they shoot lions and tigers and—and g’rillas?”
“Well, not exactly lions and gorillas, my boy; but there are plenty of baboons and monkeys there, and lots of tigers.”
“Have you shot them?” asked Junkie, with a look of keen interest.
“Yes; many of them.”
“Did you ever turn a tiger outside in?”