A Bushranger at Bay
forgetting his benefits in the virtuous indignation of the moment.
"I don't wonder at your thinking it one," returned the other, mildly; "for I never had such absolute luck in all my life!"
And he went on to amplify his first lie like a man.
But when the bags were really back in the coach, piled roof-high on those of the downward mail, then it was worse fun for Guy Kentish outside than even he had anticipated. Question followed question, compliment capped compliment, and a certain unsteady undercurrent of incredulity by no means lessened his embarrassment. Had he but told the truth, he felt he could have borne the praise, and indeed enjoyed it, for he had done far better than anybody was likely to suppose, and already it was irritating to have to keep that circumstance a secret. Yet one thing he was able to say from his soul before the coach drew up at the next stage.
"You should have a spell here," the driver had suggested, "and let me pick you up again on my way back. You'd soon lay hands on the bird himself, if you can put salt on his tail as you've done. And no one else can—we want a few more chums like you."
"I dare say!"
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