The most direct route to my sylvan destination was along one of the main streets; but, for reasons of my own, I dodged round by the back slums. Frankly, it is not a bit nice for a man of position to walk down a respectable thoroughfare, nodding to his acquaintances with dignified composure, when a backward glance has disclosed his kangaroo dog dawdling along at his heels, lithe, svelte and spirituelle, with about ten pounds of stolen sausages hanging festooned from his mouth, and tripping him up from time to time. But Pup couldn’t eat the sausages without stopping; so, when we reached the outskirts of the town, I took them from him, and, sitting down on a stump, cut the isthmuses with my knife, in order to help him to them one by one. Then, after a mutual caress, we resumed our way to the romantic nook that I wotted of.