I was about half a mile off, and something in the cut of his jib seemed familiar.

I got my glasses on him and made out a short, stout figure clad in a mackintosh, with a woollen comforter round its throat.

As I watched, it made a movement as if to rub its nose on its sleeve.

That was the pet trick of one man I knew.

Inconspicuously I slipped through the long heather so as to reach the road ahead of the gig.