13/42 But the encounter with the bagman had worked wonders with Dickson, and he strode lustily into the weather, his waterproof collar buttoned round his chin. The road climbed to a bare moor, where lagoons had formed in the ruts, and the mist showed on each side only a yard or two of soaking heather. Soon he was wet; presently every part of him--boots, body, and pack--was one vast sponge. The waterproof was not water-proof, and the rain penetrated to his most intimate garments. |