The Highlander took his property with gruff word of thanks.
"Losh, mon; it's a terrible city!" he murmured, as he placed his rifle between his knees and groped among the multitudinous buckles and straps on his broad back. "D'ye ken it's been my life's dream to see yon London? Ma old mither don't believe in dreams—and I'm thinkin' she's reet. I'll be glad when eleven o'clock comes and I'm off for bonnie Scotland!"
"Eleven o'clock!" I gasped. "Why, you've nearly three hours to wait, and you were here when I arrived just after seven."
"Aye; I've been here since four o'clock. Mon, I know this platform as well as I know ma own wee house! I feel safer here than in yon streets."
Having fixed his steel helmet to his satisfaction on top of the other gear, he swung his rifle round on the sling—nearly braining an elderly gentleman who was passing behind him in the process. Ignoring the civilian's angry protest, he turned to me.
"That's the sixth," he said, shortly, and a faint glimmer of amusement came into his clear blue eyes, "the sixth thieving rascal that felt ma rifle this day. They hang round trying to steal something from ma kit. It's a terrible city. I've been discoverin' it all day."
"Look here," I said, "I've half an hour to spare, and you must be feeling hungry. I can't offer you a drink, but if you'll come and have some hot tea or cocoa and something to eat, I'll be proud, and you can tell me of your adventures."
The Scot eyed me suspiciously.
"A wee lassie made the same offer three hours since," he replied, doubtfully. "A lassie all in furs, but I didna trust her, and I told her so. She was after ma money or ma kit, or she wouldn't have been so angry at having been found oot! But I'll trust ye, mon. I want a bite of something, and if it's my adventures you want to hear, it's a wonderful story I'll have to tell ye."