side. 'You're not one of the low sort!' he went on.
Alfred smiled.
'You're well-bred,' continued Larry, in the tone of a connoisseur. Then, wagging his head gravely: 'I like a man that's not one of the low sort; I like a man that is well-bred!'
That was the end, as it always had been. Larry picked up his swag with the air of a man who has proved his case.
Alfred had ridden on some yards, when a call from the idiot made him stop.
'Look there!' shouted Larry, with an ungainly sweep of the arm. 'Dust-storm coming up—bad dust-storm. Don't get catched, mister—you aren't one of the low sort—not you!'
Daft Larry had been known to give gratuitous information before, though he could not answer questions. Alfred, instead of riding on, now looked about him. There was sense enough in the warning; though Larry, apparently, did not mind being 'catched' himself, since he was plodding steadily on,
