"But I'll never come to that state of affairs."
"Assuredly you will, sonny—just for the remark you've made. But I'd like to see that fellow again. Go on to the barracks; I'll be after you in two minutes."
Confused identity seemed to be in the air. Had I seen that weary looking figure, and that weather-worn face, before? I couldn't determine; and I can't determine now—but the question has nothing to do with this record. At all events, impelled partly by a desire to have another look at the man, and partly, perhaps, by a morbid longing to flaunt myself before Tam, I grandly dipped my lofty belltopper under the doorway of the hut, and, without removing it, helped myself to a pannikin of tea from the bucket by the hearth, and sat down opposite the silent swagman. Farther along the table, Tam was already breast-deep in the stream of conversation. In answer to some question, he was replying that he had been only twelve months in the colonies.
"And what part of the Land o' Cakes are you from?" I asked, wantonly, but civilly.
"A'm frae Dumfriessheer—frae a spote they ca' Ecchelfechan," he replied complacently. "Bit, de'il tak't, wha' gar'd ye jalouse A was a Scoatsman?"
"What the (sheol) was the name o' that (adj.) place you come from?" asked the station bullock driver, with interest.
"Ecchelfechan."
"Nobody's got any business to come from a place with sich a (adj.) name."
"An' wha' fir no?" demanded Tam sternly. "Haud tae ye'se hae ony siccan a historic name in yir ain domd kintra. D'ye ken wha, firbye mysen, was boarn in Ecchelfechan syne? Dinna fash yirsel' aboot"
"I say, Scotty," interposed Toby; "Egglefeggan's the place where they eat brose—ain't it?"
"A'll haud nae deeskission wi' the produc' o' hauf-a-dizzen generations o' slavery," replied Tam haughtily. "A dinna attreebute ony blame tae yir ain sel', laddie; bit ye canna owrecam the kirse o' Canaan."
"Cripes! do you take me for a (adj.) mulatter?" growled the descendant of a thousand kings. "Why, properly speaking, I own this here (adj.) country, as fur as the eye can reach."
"Od, ye puir, glaikit, misleart remlet o' a perishin' race," retorted Tam—"air ye no the mair unsicker? Air ye no feart ye'se aiblins see yon day gin ye'se thole waur fare nir a wamefu' o' gude brose? Heh!"
"Oh, speak English, you (adj.) bawbee-hunter!" muttered H.R.H. "Why, they're a cut above brose in China—ain't they, Sling?"
"Eatee lice in China," replied the gardener, with national pride. "Plenty lice—good cookee—welly ni'."
"By gummies! Hi seed the time Hi'd 'a' stopped yer jorrin', Dave!" said a quavering voice, dominating some argument at the other end of the table. "Hi seed me fightin' in a sawr-pit f'r tew hewrs an' sebmteen minits, by the watch; an' fetched 'ome in a barrer. Now wot's the hupshot? Did'n' Hi say, 'Look hout! we'll git hit to rights'?"
