He repressed a violent feeling of irritation, and turned round to pick them up.

The Major and Gertie instinctively made for a gate in the hedge, rested down their bundles and leaned against it.
Frank gathered the articles--a shirt, a pair of softer shoes, a razor and brush, a tin of potted meat, a rosary, a small round cracked looking-glass and a piece of lead piping--and packed them once more carefully together on the bank.

He tested his string, knotted it, drew it tight, and it broke again.

The tin of potted meat--like some small intelligent animal--ran hastily off the path and dived into a small drain.
A short cry of mirth broke from the Major, and Gertie smiled.
Frank said nothing at all.

He lay down on the road, plunged his arm into the drain and drew up the potted meat; it had some disagreeable-looking moist substance adhering to it, which he wiped off on to his sleeve, and then regretted having done so.