Linklater, as the consciousness of the change in his friend grew upon him, was prepared to resent it.

"What the deuce is the matter with you ?" he enquired.

"Are you ill ?" "Never better.

I could at this present moment sit upon your fat and florid carcass." "Well, what then is wrong?
I say, you haven't--it isn't a girl, is it ?" "Nothing so lucky for a bloomin' Colonial in this land of wealth and culture.

If I only dared!" "There's something," insisted Linklater; "but I've no doubt it will develop.