Harry quickened his step, and touched Mr. Clinton on the shoulder.

Clinton turned languidly, but when he saw who it was his face expressed undisguised pleasure.

"Mr. Vane!" he exclaimed. "I'm awfully glad to see you, don't you know?"

"You haven't forgotten my friend Jack, I hope," said Harry, indicating the young sailor.

"I am glad to see him, too," said Mr. Clinton, with modified pleasure, offering two fingers for Jack to shake, for he had not forgotten that Jack had been a sailor.

"When did you come from Australia?" asked Clinton.

"We only arrived day before yesterday."

"And what luck did you have at the mines?"

"We struck it rich. We are all capitalists, Jack and all."

"You don't say so! I wish I had gone with you, really now."

"I don't think you'd have liked it, Mr. Clinton. We had a hard time. We had to wade through mud and mire, and sleep on the ground, and twice we were captured by bushrangers. They wanted Jack and myself to join the band."

"You don't say so--really?"

"They might have made you a bushranger, Mr. Clinton, if they had caught you."

"I never would consent, never!" said Mr. Clinton, with emphasis.

Jack smiled at the idea of the elegant Mr. Clinton being transformed into an outlaw and bushranger.

"I am awfully glad I did not go with you," he said, shuddering.

"Let me make you acquainted with my friend, Mr. Obed Stackpole, Mr.

Clinton," said Harry. "He was with us in all our trials and dangers."

Montgomery Clinton surveyed Obed with evident curiosity. The long gaunt figure of the Yankee was clad in a loose rough suit which was too large for him, and Clinton shuddered at the barbarous way in which he was attired.

"Glad to make your acquaintance, Mr. Stackpole," he said politely.

"_Stackpole_, if it's all the same to you, friend Clinton," corrected Obed. "Glad to see any friend of Harry's and Jack's. You look as if you had just come out of a bandbox."

"Ob, thank you," said the gratified dude. "You're awfully kind. My friends think I have a little taste in dress."

"My friends never paid me that compliment," said Obed. "Say, how do you like my fit out?"

"I--I don't think they have very good tailors in Australia," said Clinton hesitatingly.

"Have you as many pairs of trousers as ever, Mr. Clinton?" asked Harry.

"I have only nineteen, Mr. Vane, but I shall order some more soon."

"Nineteen pairs of breeches!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Obed in amazement. "What in the name of Jehoshaphat do you want of so many?"

"Well, I don't want to have people get used to seeing me in the same trousers, don't you know, so every day I wear a different pair."

"It must cost a mint of money to buy so many clothes."

"Oh, I have accounts with four or five tailors. They're willing to wait, don't you know. They appreciate a gentleman's custom."

"How long do they wait?" asked Harry.

"I'm owing some two years. There's lots of fellows make them wait as long."

"That aint my way," said Obed. "I pay cash. Don't they make a fuss?"

"Oh, they send in their bills, but I don't take any notice of them,"

said Clinton languidly.

"Then, young man," said Obed, "let me advise you to pay your bills, and get back your self-respect. I'd go six months with only a single pair of breeches, sooner than cheat a tailor out of a new pair."

"I never wear breeches," drawled Clinton, with a shudder. "I don't know what they are. Mr. Vane, those trousers you have on are very unbecoming.

Let me introduce you to my tailor. He'll fit you out in fashionable style."

"Thank you. I believe I do need a new pair."

"Will he fit me, too?" asked Obed.

"He don't make--breeches!" said Clinton disdainfully.

"A good hit, by Jehoshaphat!" exclaimed Obed, slapping Clinton on the back with such emphasis that he was nearly upset.

"Don't hit quite so hard," said the dude ruefully. "You nearly upset me, don't you know?"

"I know it now. The fact is, friend Clinton, you ought to be shut up in a gla.s.s case, and put on exhibition in a dime museum."

"How awfully horrid!" protested Clinton.

"You're more fit for ornament than use."

"You're awfully sarcastic, Mr. Stackpole, don't you know?" said Clinton, edging off cautiously. "I must bid you good-morning, Mr. Vane, as I have to buy a new neck tie. I will go to the tailor's any day."

"What was such a critter made for, anyway?" queried Obed, when Clinton was out of hearing. "He looks for all the world like a tailor's dummy."

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

THE BOYS SECURE POSITIONS.