“I'll send your clothes to the hotel,” he said. “Take my advice, young man, and keep out of my sight till you can find a steamer to take you where they'll pay you for doing nothing. You're the sort of man who irritates me and it's a nasty climate for getting angry in!”
Cathcart picked himself up. “Well, I should like to know who's going to make your road,” he said spitefully.
“I'll make it myself,” Trent roared. “Don't you think a little thing like some stupid laws of science will stand in my way, or the way of a man who knows his own mind. I tell you I'll level that road from the tree there which we marked as the starting-point to the very centre of Bekwando.”
He slammed the door and re-entered the room. The boy was there, sitting upon the office stool hard at work with a pair of compasses.
“What the devil are you doing there?” Trent asked. “Out you go with your master!”
The boy looked up. He had a fair, smooth face, but lips like Trent's own.
“I'm just thinking about that first bend by Kurru corner, sir,” he said, “I'm not sure about the level.”
Trent's face relaxed. He held out his hand.
“My boy,” he said, “I'll make your fortune as sure as my name is Scarlett Trent!”
“We'll make that road anyway,” the boy answered, with a smile.