that sort of thing hurts you
worse and makes you jerk your head more impatiently than the thought of
a past crime would, I think.

I pulled myself together when I got to where Jack was.

'Here, Jack!' I said. 'I've struck something all right; here's some tea
and brownie--we'll hang out here all right.'

Jack took a cup of tea and a piece of cake and sat down to enjoy it,
just as if he'd paid for it and ordered it to be sent out about that
time.

He was silent for a while, with the sort of silence that always made me
wild at him. Presently he said, as if he'd just thought of it--

'That's a very pretty little girl, 'Possum, isn't she, Joe? Do you
notice how she dresses?--always fresh and trim. But she's got on her
best bib-and-tucker to-day, and a pinafore with frills to it. And it's
ironing-day, too. It can't be on your account. If it was Saturday or
Sunday afternoon, or some holiday, I could understand it. But perhaps
one of her admirers is going to take her to the church bazaar in Solong
to-night. That's what it is.'

He gave me time to think over that.

'But yet she seems interested in you, Joe,' he said. 'Why didn't you
offer to take her to the bazaar instead of letting another chap get in
ahead of you? You miss all your chances, Joe.'

Then a thought struck me. I ought to have known Jack well enough to have
thought of it before.

'Look here, Jack,' I said. 'What have you been saying to that girl about
me?'

'Oh, not much,' said Jack. 'There isn't much to say about you.'

'What did you tell her?'

'Oh, nothing in particular. She'd heard all about you before.'

'She hadn't heard much good, I suppose,' I said.

'Well, that's true, as far as I could make out. But you've only got
yourself to blame. I didn't have the breeding and rearing of you. I
smoothed over matters with her as much as I could.'

'What did you tell her?' I said. 'That's what I want to know.'

'Well, to tell the truth, I didn't tell her anything much. I only
answered questions.'

'And what questions did she ask?'

'Well, in the first place, she asked if your name wasn't Joe Wilson; and
I said it was, as far as I knew. Then she said she heard that you wrote
poetry, and I had to admit that that was true.'

'Look here, Jack,' I said, 'I've two minds to punch your head.'

'And she asked me if it was true that you were wild,' said Jack, 'and I
said you was, a bit. She said it seemed a pity. She asked me if it was
true that you dran