“Ah, you are fresh from England, I see. All the better. You will see some sad and humbling sights in Johannesburg. But keep up your pluck, and don’t forget that you are sons of a mighty nation of free men.”
“Depend upon it we shall never do that, so long as the great Cecil Rhodes stays in Africa, at any rate.” The stranger started, and a dusky tint seemed to overspread his face. Then he smiled and looked at the cards.
“Edward Romer! I knew a Paul Romer, of Devonshire.”
“That was my father, sir.”
“Indeed! Then I must do something for you. Clarence Raybold. Ah, I know your father, if he lives at Johannesburg.”
“He does, sir,” answered Clarence.
The stranger looked at Fred with the others intently and silently for a few moments, then he drew nearer to Ned.
“You can save me a journey tonight, young Romer, for I think I can depend upon you as well as upon your companions.”
“I trust you can, sir,” replied Ned, modestly.
“On your discretion as well as your loyalty and courage?”