"I'm doing so for a time. My clerk died two or three weeks since and I haven't got another yet."
"Fever?" said Brown.
"Common malaria. Perhaps this spot is worse than others, because, although we're beginning to kill mosquitos and poison the drains, we can't keep English boys. The last two didn't hold out six months."
Lister got thoughtful. He knew the African coast was unhealthy, but had not imagined it was as bad as this. He said nothing and Montgomery resumed: "I have been forced to lie up and am shaky yet. Malaria gets us all, but as a rule it gets strangers, particularly the young, soonest. Looks as if the microbe liked fresh blood."
"If I was an African merchant, I'd let an agent run my factories," Brown remarked.
Montgomery smiled. "Sometimes it's necessary for me to come out. This factory is perhaps our best, and when Nevis, our agent, died, I started by the first boat. Montgomery's is an old house, but since the big men combined and the Amalgamation built a factory on the next creek, we have had some trouble to pull along. Our capital is small and we can't use up-to-date methods. In fact, I imagine our situation is much like Cartwright's. When he bought the wreck he no doubt felt some strain. But won't you take another drink?"
Brown indicated his glass, which still held some liquor, and Lister refused politely. He noted that Montgomery knew their object and was surprised, since he thought Cartwright had not talked much about the undertaking. Then, although Montgomery was obviously ill, one felt he tried to paint the coast in the darkest colors.
"What do you think about our job?" Brown asked.
"I think it a rash experiment and imagine Cartwright agrees. All the same, the old fellow's a bold gambler and is perhaps willing to speculate on the chance of getting out of his embarrassments. However, this is his business and you'll, no doubt, get your wages, although you won't float the wreck."
"What do you reckon the obstacles?"