“Didn’t your father say anything to you about me?”
“No.”
“Didn’t he tell you what I was, sir?”
“No,” said Nic, with’s suspicion now dawning on his mind. “You are his stock man, are you not?”
“Stock man? No: Brookes is his stock man. There—keep away from me, my lad.”
“Why?” said Nic.
“Because I’m only a sort of two-legged animal, a machine to do your father’s work. I thought you knew.”
“That you are—”
Nic stopped short.
“Yes, my lad—a convict, sent out of my country for my country’s good.”