down to bad luck, perhaps some one else deserves the 

 credit. 



One evening as we were lounging round the camp 

 fire, Robbie, failing to find a soft spot for his head 

 on a thorn log, got up reluctantly to fetch his blankets, 

 exclaiming with a mock tragic air : 



" The time is out of joint ; O cursed spite, 

 That ever I was born to set it right." 



We knew Robbie's way. There were times when he 

 would spout heroics, suggested by some passing trifle, 

 his own face a marvel of solemnity the whole time, 

 and only the amused expression in his spectacled grey 

 eyes to show he was poking fun at himself. An 

 indulgent smile, a chuckle, and the genial comment 

 " Silly ass ! " came from different quarters ; for Robbie 

 was a favourite. Only old Rocky maintained his usual 

 gravity. 



As Robbie settled down again in comfort, the old 

 man remarked in level thoughtful tones : " I reckon 

 the feller as said that was a waster, he chucked it ! " 

 There was a short pause in which I, in my ignorance, 

 began to wonder if it was possible that Rocky did not 

 know the source; or did he take the quotation seriously ? 

 Then Robbie answered in mild protest : " It was 

 a gentleman of the name of Hamlet who said it." 



" Well, you can bet he was no good, anyhow," 

 Rocky drawled out. " * Jus' my luck ! ' is the waster's 

 motto ! " 



" They do say he was mad," Robbie replied, as 

 his face twitched with a pull-your-leg expression, 



25 



