He looked round at the low dirty sheds on one side, at the row of furnaces on the other, two of which emitted a steady roar as the tin within gradually turned from a brown granulated powder to a golden fluid, whose stony scum was floating on the top.
“It’s enough to make any man kick against his fate. Nice occupation for a gentleman, ’pon my word!”
A low whistle made him look up. “Why, Vic,” he cried; “I thought you were in town.”
“How are you, my Trojan?” cried the visitor boisterously. “I was in town, but I’ve come back. I say, cheerful work this for Monsieur le Comte Henri des Vignes!”
“Don’t chaff a fellow,” said Harry angrily. “What brought you down?”
“Two things.”
“Now, look here, Vic. Don’t say any more about that. Perhaps after a time I may get her to think differently, but now—”
“I was not going to say anything about your sister, my dear boy. I can wait and bear anything. But I suppose I may say something about you.”
“About me?”
“Yes. I’ve got a splendid thing on. Safe to make money—heaps of it.”