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Bruce, Mary Grant, 1878-1958

"Mates at Billabong"


"He came straight up to me, with a truly hang-dog air, and folds of
towel ever so far behind him in the grass, and didn't get back his
self-respect until I took it off. Poor old Tait! You really ought to be
ashamed of yourself, Jimmy."
"I am," said Jim cheerfully. "Toast, please."
"When I saw Tait last he was disappearing into the landscape with all
his blushing honours thick upon him!" Wally said. "I don't see why you
waste all your sympathy on the brute, and give me none. It's the
greatest wonder I'm here at all!"
"Where's Cecil, anyhow?" asked Jim, suddenly.
"Haven't an idea--how should I? He wasn't in the lagoon, which is the
only place I could give an expert opinion on this morning."
"Oh, he's late as usual," Norah said. "I suppose he's still cross about
last night. Really, Jim, I'm sorry we've managed to rub him up the
wrong way."
"Why, the difficulty would be to find the right way," Jim retorted.
"He's such a cross-grained beggar--you never know when you're going to
offend him; and of course he's perfectly idiotic about the horses.
Wonder if he thinks we LIKE horses with sore backs and mouths! He'll
have to give poor old Betty a spell, anyhow, for she's a patch on her
back the size of half a crown, thanks to him."
"Oh, dear!" said Norah, with a little shiver.


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