"I wouldn't bother,
old first-aid; it looked tip-top when you dressed it before breakfast."
"I'd have given him rag for it, anyway," said Norah, still troubled.
"He can always tear half a yard or so off that turban of his," Jim
said. "Don't go out of your way to meet worry, my girl--it'll always
come quickly enough to meet you. Which is philosophy quite equal to
Wally's!" He sighed. "Here's trouble coming to meet us now, that's
certain!"
CHAPTER XIII
STATION DOINGS
I see as I stand at the slip-rails, dreaming,
Merry riders that mount and meet;
Sun on the saddles, gleaming, gleaming,
Red dust wrapping the horses' feet.
W. H. OGILVIE
They had turned the corner of the house leading to the verandah off
which Mr. Linton's office opened, and where that gentleman was
presumably to be found, wrestling with the intricacies of his
income-tax schedule--the squatter's yearly bugbear. Along this verandah
came, slowly, Cecil, beautiful to behold in a loose brown suit, with
buff coloured shirt and flowing orange tie. Wally cast a swift glance
at his ankles, and chuckled.
"He's got new socks on!" he said, in a sepulchral whisper.
"Shut up, you duffer--he'll hear you!" Jim said. He raised his voice.
"Looking for us, Cecil?"
"Yes," Cecil drawled.
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