"Yes," said the other; "here's to his Knibbs, and--
Penelope!"
"Drink hearty," returned Billy Byrne.
The poetical one drew a sack of tobacco from his hip
pocket and a rumpled package of papers from the pocket of
his shirt, extending both toward Billy.
"Want the makings?" he asked.
"I ain't stuck on sponging," said Billy; "but maybe I can
get even some day, and I sure do want a smoke. You see I
was frisked. I ain't got nothin'--they didn't leave me a sou
markee."
Billy reached across one end of the fire for the tobacco and
cigarette papers. As he did so the movement bared his wrist,
and as the firelight fell upon it the marks of the steel bracelet
showed vividly. In the fall from the train the metal had bitten
into the flesh.
His companion's eyes happened to fall upon the telltale
mark. There was an almost imperceptible raising of the man's
eyebrows; but he said nothing to indicate that he had noticed
anything out of the ordinary.
The two smoked on for many minutes without indulging in
conversation. The camper quoted snatches from Service and
Kipling, then he came back to Knibbs, who was evidently his
favorite. Billy listened and thought.
"Goin' anywheres in particular?" he asked during a
momentary lull in the recitation.
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