"Optimism is a great asset," Grahame smiled; "but in this country it must have a handmaiden—a convenient revolver."
Walthew leaned forward on the table.
"We've gone into a risky business together. I know nothing about you except that you seem to understand these dagoes and are a handy man to have around when they pull their knives. You know almost nothing about me."
He paused and smiled, and Grahame stirred uneasily. Walthew looked so boyish when he smiled like that. Would he have that carefree look in, say, two months? At times, Grahame regretted letting the boy join him in a venture that might try the heart of even a very strong man.
"I say, old chap, you aren't listening!" Walthew expostulated. "I'm telling you that the pater's a money-making machine. When I left Harvard he was for working me up into a partnership in the Walthew factory. But I couldn't stand it—too monotonous. I took ten thousand dollars, instead, on condition that if I hadn't made good in my own way when two years were up, I'd go back and start as clerk."
"Well," Grahame returned with a smile, "I haven't much to tell. I have no family business to fall back on. As my means were not large enough to let me live as I liked at home, I went abroad to increase them. So far I haven't succeeded; but, on the whole, I've had a pretty good time, and I don't see much reason for grumbling about my luck."
This was correct, so far as it went, for Grahame did not think it worth while to explain that the fiery blood of the Borderers ran in his veins and his people had been soldiers and explorers until economic changes impoverished the family. Nor could he add that, because his name still counted for something in the North, he had left home to avoid being skilfully led into a marriage his friends thought suitable. He had, indeed, run away from a well-born girl with money, who, he suspected, was relieved to see him go. Since then he had known trouble, and it had hardened him. Yet he was honest and was marked by some polish.
At first sight, and by contrast with his comrade, Walthew looked callow, but he improved on acquaintance. It was not for nothing that he was the son of a shrewd manufacturer, who had built up a great business from a humble beginning. Walthew was cool in a crisis, and though outwardly careless, he was capable of looking ahead. So far, his talents were undeveloped, but Grahame suspected them.
While they sat talking, the scene in the square gained animation. Groups of men, moving quickly, emerged from the side streets; there was a murmur of voices; and a crowd began to gather. Women called from the flat housetops; doors were opened and naked, dark-skinned children dragged in from the pavement. The concourse thickened about the steps of the church; gesticulating men chattered in the native patois.
Grahame's eyes grew keen.