Jeffreys’ jaw fell at this announcement. He had been laying balm to his wounded spirit in the thought that this interloping stranger would soon be going, and then—well, the field would be clear again.
“Glad to hear it, old fellow, awfully glad. By Jove, it’s the best news I’ve heard for a long time.”
“The deuce it is! And why, may I ask?”
“Why? Only hear him! Haven’t I had to do everything by myself, and knock about by myself? No fellow to talk to at work, or to go out and sneak a buck with, or to blow a cloud with at night, and so on. Now we’ll have a rare good time of it together.”
“Especially when you go down to feed the ostriches,” said Claverton, with a mischievous laugh.
The other coloured and looked foolish, and was about to make some stammering reply.
“Never mind, Hicks,” said Claverton, in that wonderfully attractive manner which he now and then exhibited, “I don’t think you and I will quarrel. Now I’m going to turn in. Good-night. Good-night, Jeffreys.”
“I say,” inquired Jeffreys, after he had gone out. “Is that cattle-branding on to-morrow?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I think I’ll stay and give you a hand, if Mr Brathwaite doesn’t mind. Times are slack, and there’s nothing doing at home.”