Bramham regarded him piercingly, and at the moment a boy entered with the morning papers. Each man reached out for one, and turned with striking unanimity of interest to the Market reports.
"Good Lord!" cried Bramham instantly. "East Rands at 5.5.0, and still sinking."
Carson gave a groan, which meant, "Oh, Hades! why didn't I sell at £10?"
Bramham continued his dolorous tale, quoting all the prices in which he and Carson were interested.
"Main Reefs, Randfonteins, Crown Reefs, Knights—all steadily sagging in sympathy; if you sell now, Karri, you'll be in the cart."
And Carson knew that Bramham spoke the thing that was. In the state of the market it would mean ruin to sell. The loss would be so great that he doubted if he would be able to pay up the inevitable deficiency at his bank. He reflected that possibly a few of his syndicate shares might pull him through, but what good was that! He wanted money—money to marry Rosalind Chard and take her with him to Borapota; to free her from the cares of life and money for evermore.
As he stared gloomily at Bramham, the colour of his prospects were of the same hue as the black scowl on his brow. But like all speculators, he was not long without a ray of hope. His face suddenly cleared.
"What about my claims on the South Rand?" he demanded blithely.
"Have you still got those?" cried Bramham in surprise. "Good! How many?"
"Half interest in a hundred?"