It's among my
campaign-kit somewhere--in the parcel at the bottom of the trunk."
Long ago Dick had carefully possessed himself of a forty-pound weight field-
equipment constructed by the knowledge of his own experience. It was this put-
away treasure that he was trying to find and rehandle. Mr. Beeton whipped the
revolver out of its place on the top of the package, and Dick drove his hand
among the khaki coat and breeches, the blue cloth leg-bands, and the heavy
flannel shirts doubled over a pair of swan-neck spurs. Under these and the
water-bottle lay a sketch-book and a pigskin case of stationery.
"These we don't want; you can have them, Mr. Beeton. Everything else I'll keep.
Pack 'em on the top right-hand side of my trunk. When you've done that come
into the studio with your wife. I want you both. Wait a minute; get me a pen
and a sheet of notepaper."
It is not an easy thing to write when you cannot see, and Dick had particular
reasons for wishing that his work should be clear. So he began, following his
right hand with his left: ""The badness of this writing is because I am blind
and cannot see my pen." H'mph!--even a lawyer can't mistake that. It must be
signed, I suppose, but it needn't be witnessed.
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