"Say, mister,—where's your hoss?" he asked, addressing me.
Both laughed loudly.
At first I failed to see the point of hilarity.
"What is the joke?" I asked.
"Guess you are!" said the Swede. And the two men laughed louder than ever.
"Look here!" I cried, my blood getting up, "I want you two to understand, first go off, that I am not in the habit of standing up to be grinned at. What do you want? Speak out your business or get out of here and tumble back into your boat."
"Ach!—it's all right, matey," put in the Irishman. "Just a bit av fun out av yer breeches and leggings. We Canucks don't wear breeches and leggings in grocery stores. Do we, Jan?"
"Guess nit," said Jan. And they both laughed again.
I cooled down, thinking if that were all their joke they were welcome to it, for I had already found my breeches and leggings mighty handy for getting through the bush with and for tumbling in and out of leaky rowing boats.
I grinned. "All right, fellows," I cried, "laugh all you want and I'll leave you a legging each as a legacy when I die."