curiosity in his eye.

"You've been thinking I've been wasting my time beating around down
there in the swamp just to look at things and smell of things--which
you wouldn't do. You think I'm a kind of impractical dreamer, now, don't
you, Horace? I'll warrant you've told your wife just that more than
once. Come, now!"

I think I made a rather shrewd hit, for Horace looked uncomfortable and
a little foolish.

"Come now, honest!" I laughed and looked him in the eye.

"Waal, now, ye see--"

"Of course you do, and I don't mind it in the least."

A little dry gleam of humour came in his eye.

"Ain't ye?"

It's a fine thing to have it straight out with a friend.

"No," I said, "I'm the practical man and you're the dreamer. I've rarely
known in all my life, Horace, such a confirmed dreamer as you are, nor a
more impractical one."

Horace laughed.

"How do ye make that out?"