‘Very well,’ said Vandeloup, quietly, ‘I’ll give you a cheque for the amount, then. There’s nothing more to be said, I believe?’ and he walked over to the door.
‘Say!’ from Polglaze.
‘Yes,’ replied Gaston, indolently, swinging his stick to and fro.
‘New?’ inquired the stockbroker.
‘You mean to this sort of thing?’ said Vandeloup, looking at him, and receiving a nod in token of acquiescence, added, ‘entirely.’
‘Risky,’ dropped from the Polglaze mouth. ‘I never knew a gold mine that wasn’t,’ retorted Vandeloup, dryly.
‘Bad,’ in an assertive tone, from Polglaze.
‘This particular mine, I suppose you mean?’ said Gaston, with a yawn, ‘very likely it is. However, I’m willing to take the risk. Good day! See you at four,’ and with a careless nod, M. Vandeloup lounged out of the office.
He walked along Collins Street, met a few friends, and kept a look-out for Kitty. He, however, did not see her, but there was a surprise in store for him, for turning round into Swanston Street, he came across Archie McIntosh. Yes, there he was, with his grim, severe Scotch face, with the white frill round it, and Gaston smiled as he saw the old man, dressed in rigid broadcloth, casting disproving looks on the pretty girls walking along.
‘A set o’ hizzies,’ growled the amiable Archie to himself, ‘prancin’ alang wi’ their gew-gaws an’ fine claes, like war horses—the daughters o’ Zion that walk wi’ mincin’ steps an’ tinklin’ ornaments.’