“The best we could give. It was a chance of chances to get rid of them at all.”
“Let me see: that scheme was floated by old Grantham Reed, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, and he did very wisely in dying and getting out of the way. What a vast amount of money has been thrown down mines.”
Yes: Mr Clive Reed was in, and the Major entered, and felt a little staggered at the solid, wealthy look of his prospective son-in-law’s house, as he was shown into the library, where Clive was busy writing.
“Ah, Major,” he cried, “then you had my telegram?”
“Your telegram, sir, no.”
“Tut-tut-tut! I’m sorry. But I need not ask you any questions. Your face shows that you have heard the rumour.”
“Heard the cursed rumour? Yes, sir,” cried the Major indignantly. “How can you have the heart to take the matter so lightly?”
“Lightly? Why not? I am only sorry that it should worry my friends.”
“Clive Reed!” cried the Major, bringing his fist down so heavily upon the table that the pens leaped out of the tray; “this may be a slight matter to a mining adventurer who lives by gambling, but do you grasp the fact that it is utter ruin to me and my child?”