At any rate she wanted somebody like Sir
Galahad, and, without wishing to hurl bouquets at himself, he could not
see where she could possibly get anyone liker Sir Galahad than himself.
So, wind and weather permitting, Samuel Marlowe intended to propose to
Wilhelmina Bennett this very day.
He let down the trick basin which hung beneath the mirror and,
collecting his shaving materials, began to lather his face.
"I am the Bandolero!" sang Sam blithely through the soap, "I am, I am
the Bandolero! Yes, yes, I am the Bandolero!"
The untidy heap of bedclothes in the lower berth stirred restlessly.
"Oh, God!" said Eustace Hignett thrusting out a tousled head.
Sam regarded his cousin with commiseration. Horrid things had been
happening to Eustace during the last few days, and it was quite a
pleasant surprise each morning to find that he was still alive.
"Feeling bad again, old man?"
"I was feeling all right," replied Hignett churlishly, "until you began
the farmyard imitations.
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