of clothes-line in my swag or portmanteau those times. I travelled along with a portmanteau those times. I carried the rope in case of accident, or in case of fire, to lower my things out of the window―or hang myself, maybe, if things got too bad. No, now I come to think of it, I carried a revolver for that, and it was the only thing I never pawned.'
"To hang yourself with?" asked the mate.
'Yes―you're very smart,' snapped Mitchell; 'never mind. This reminds me that I got a chap at a pub to pawn my last suit, while I stopped inside and waited for an old mate to send me a pound; but I kept the shooter, and if he hadn't sent it I'd have been the late John Mitchell long ago.'
"And sometimes you lower'd out when there was'nt a fire."
'Yes, that will pass; you're improving in the funny business. But about the yarn. There was two beds in my room at the pub, where I had to go away without shouting for the boss, and, as it happened, there was a strange chap sleeping in the other bed that night, and, just as I raised the window and was going to lower my bag out, he woke up.
'Now, look here,' I said, shaking my fist at him, like that, 'if you say a word, I'll stoush yer!'
"Well," he said, "well, you needn't be in such a sweat to jump down a man's throat. I've got my swag under the bed, and I was just going to ask you for the loan of the rope when you're done with it."
'Well, we chummed. His name was Tom―Tom―something, I forget the other name, but it doesn't matter. Have you got the matches?'
