At breakfast on the day after the lion-hunt Ferrier, who was silent and seemed embarrassed, said suddenly--
"I say, old boy, d'you know I've been here nearly two months?"
"What! Getting tired of it?" said John, with a smile.
"Not a bit; only--well, to put it straight, I've been here so long that I ought to pay for my keep."
"Rot!"
"I mean it. It's all very well to be your guest for a week or two, and I'm jolly comfortable, but to hang on like this--no, really, I ought to pay something to help keep the pot boiling."
"Now look here, Charles Ferrier, you're a very good sort, but I'm hanged if I stand that. If there's any talk of pay, I ought to pay you for your services. Five weeks in charge while I was droving--name your figure. Rounding up strayed cattle; looking after the natives--how much that lot? You do far more in a day than any hired man, as I believe you call 'em in your part of the world."
"Well, I like it, and I've nothing else to do; in fact, I've a great mind to settle about here myself, and I would, like a shot, if it weren't for Hilda. I'm afraid it wouldn't do to bring her among the lions, as your khansaman said. But here I am, learning all about it on the cheap, and with no responsibility."
"Look here, we'll leave it at that. I'm very glad of your company, to say nothing of your help, and as by the look of it that misguided father of mine has been hooked, and the widow must be rolling in money, I don't suppose we shall see him back here. He'll settle down in Park Lane, and die before his time of overfeeding. You stay on as long as you like, and if you're getting experience, I'm getting your services, so we'll cry quits."
So it was left. The two young fellows shared in the management of the farm. They found their time pretty fully occupied, and a portion of a letter which John wrote to his father a week or two later may be quoted as showing how affairs at the farm were progressing.