“Why yes. How would it be to put something into it? It would give you a share—make you a kind of partner, don’t you see?”
“But I haven’t got anything to put into it except the mere trifle I brought out with me.”
“Wouldn’t the people at home invest something for you, eh? It would pay them and—you—a thundering rate of interest, and give you a share in the concern besides.”
But Gerard was able completely to disabuse Anstey’s mind of any illusions on that head. “The people at home” had done all they could in scraping together enough for Gerard’s passage and outfit, together with a few pounds to start him on landing. There was not the faintest chance of them doing anything further.
“How much did you bring out with you?” pursued Anstey.
Gerard was able to inform him he had brought out about thirty pounds; but what with travelling and other expenses he had not much more than twenty-five at his disposal—a mere trifle.
“A mere trifle indeed,” rejoined Anstey. “But then we all have to start upon trifles. Now, why not put that twenty-five pounds into this concern? You would get interest on it, and it would have the additional advantage of being, so to speak, under your own eye instead of lying idle at the bank. I should strongly recommend you to invest it in this. But think it well over first.”
And Gerard, after thinking it over, resolved to follow his relative’s advice, and invested his twenty-five pounds accordingly.
He had now been three months with Anstey, and the latter had kept him pretty well with his nose to the grindstone, discouraging especially any desire to visit Maritzburg. He had far better stick to business, he said. Knocking around the city might be good enough fun for fellows with plenty of coin, but one with scarcely any was very likely to get rid of what little he had. Of Harry Maitland, Gerard had hardly heard since they parted. He had received one letter stating that the writer had found a lot of friends through his letters of introduction, among whom he was having a right good time. He would ride over some day and see him. But that day never came. Harry was not going to take the trouble to hunt up a fellow who had become what he superciliously termed a mere counter-jumper. So Gerard just plodded on, determined to stick to what was a certainty as long as possible in spite of everything, the “everything” being mainly a certain change which he thought to have detected of late in his employer’s behaviour towards him—a change not for the better.
But just at this time there befell him an adventure which was destined to affect materially his after destinies, and that in more ways than one.