“Yes, sir.”
“I believe you know Mr. Tremenheere?”
“Yes.”
“So do I. He has called here to see me about you. What would you think of going abroad for a change—say, to Burma?”
“Burma—yes, sir, all right,” assented Shafto, with a glowing face. Something within him had always craved for the East.
“It’s like this,” continued the other, leaning back and placing his fingers together, tent fashion. “Our house in Rangoon wants a smart, healthy, young fellow, quick at figures, and able to manage bills of lading. You would soon pick up that; it will be chiefly an out-of-door job on the wharves.”
“I’d like that.”
“The pay offered is four hundred rupees a month, and house rent; not much, I admit, considering the fall of the rupee and Rangoon prices; but we have been compelled to modify expenses, our profits are run so fine, thanks to an active German mercantile element. Well, what do you think, Shafto?”
Shafto thought Mr. Martin a species of genie, who was offering him a magic carpet that would transport him into the great, hurrying, active world; into the land of sunshine he had longed to see; he would have jumped at the proposal if the salary had been half, and he replied:
“I shall be glad to accept.”