"I'd like to, right enough."
"Then here's a chance for you," and he handed me a copy of the Bulletin,
pointing out an advertisement for cattlemen on the steamboat, _South Sea
King_, about to take a cargo of steers from Queensland to Taku, province
of Pechi-li, Northern China.
"What are they sending cattle away up there for?"
"Supplies for troops ... The Boxer outbreak, you know ... go down to the
number given in the advertisement, and I'm sure they'll sign you on as
cattleman, if you want the job."
"All right. I'll go now."
"No," looking me over dubiously, "you'd better not go there or anywhere
else, in your present rig ... you're too ragged to apply even for such
work ... hang around till morning, and I'll go home to-night and bring
you a decent coat, at least. Your coat is worse than your trousers ...
though _they_ are ravelled at the bottoms and coming through in the left
knee ... every time you take a step I can see a glint of white through
the cloth, and," walking round me in a tour of inspection, "the seat
might break through at any moment." All this was said without a glint of
humour in his eyes.
* * * * *
Next morning the sky-pilot came down very late. It was twelve. But he
had not forgotten me. "Here's the coat," and he solemnly unwrapped and
trailed before my astonished gaze a coat with a long, ministerial tail.
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