Stingaree
intruder at due distance with his revolver levelled across the open copy of Punch.
"I heard you singing Pinafore," cried Kentish, cheerily. "And I find you reading Punch!"
"How dare you find me?" demanded the bushranger, black with passion.
"I thought you wouldn't mind. I am perfectly innocuous—look!"
And, divesting himself of his shooting-coat, he tossed it across for the other's inspection; he wore neither waistcoat nor hip-pocket, and his innocence of arms was manifest when he had turned round slowly where he stood.
"Now may I not come a little nearer?" asked the Hon. Guy.
"No; keep your distance, and tell me why you have come so far. The truth, mind, or you'll be shot!"
"Very well," said Kentish. "They were dreadful people on the coach"
"Are they waiting for you?" thundered Stingaree.
"No; they've gone on; and they think me mad."
"So you are."
"We shall see; meanwhile I prefer your company to theirs, and mean to enjoy it up to the moment of my murder."
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