“Well, she does, and that’s all in her favour; women being for the most part discontented, contrarious things—especially discontented. You’d better sail in quick, lad, if you mean biz. There’s bound to be a run on her when she gets in among other folks.”
“Hang it, don’t I know that,” was the answer, given with some impatience. “The fact is, Robson, she was too awfully good to me when I was hung up at Ben’s place after that crack on the nut. I haven’t been able to get her out of my system ever since. Look here. Shall I tell you something I never let out before? She—refused me.”
The other nodded.
“Ay! She wouldn’t jump at anybody. But why not try your luck again? Go in and win, lad, go in and win.”
“By Jove! I’ve a devilish good mind to—to try my luck again, I mean.”
Robson nodded again, this time approvingly.
“That’s the way. Ye’ll be no worse off than before. But I’m thinking there was the news from down yonder getting cold.”
“Oh, of course. I was forgetting. Well, they seem in a bit of a stew over the river there. A sweep named Babatyana is beginning to give trouble. Some think the Ethiopian movement is behind it, and others don’t. But there’s certainly something simmering.”
“He has been troublesome before. They ought to get hold of him and make an example of him, same as they did with those fellows at Richmond.”
“Wonder if we shall have a war,” went on Stride.