"But if I am, my son?" asked the Baron, almost caressingly.
"Then I leave for Omofaga by the next boat."
"Eh! And for what?"
"Never mind what. You'll find out when you come."
The Baron sighed and tugged his beard.
"You English!" said he. "Your Government won't help you."
"Damn my Government."
"You English!" said the Baron again, his tone struggling between admiration and a sort of oppression, while his face wore the look a man has who sees another push in front of him in a crowd, and wonders how the fellow works his way through.
There was a long pause. Ruston lit his pipe, and, crossing his arms on his breast, blinked at the sun; the Baron puffed away, shooting a glance now and then at his young friend, then he asked,
"Well, my boy, what do you offer?"