CHAPTER VII.
“How do you do, Mr Gerrard?” he said, as with outstretched hand he met his visitor at the door. “I am glad to meet Ted Westonley's brother-in-law at last. How is he?”
“Very well, indeed, when I last saw him,” replied Gerrard, as he sat down, and Lacey rang the bell.
“I have not seen him for ten years,” said the editor. “Ah, here you are, M illy! What will you take, Mr Gerrard? You must excuse my rig” (he was in his pyjamas); “but it's so infernally hot that I always get into these the minute I'm back in my room. When did you arrive?”
“Only an hour ago, in the Tinonee.”
“Going back to your station, I suppose? By the way, aren't you—or is it Jardine?—who is the 'furthest north' cattle man?”
“Jardine; but his station is on the east side. I'm on the west; the Gulf side, between the Batavia River and Duyfhen Point.”
Lacey looked admiringly at the well-knit figure and handsome, tanned face of his visitor. “Well, the climate up there can't be as bad as it is painted. I never saw a man look better than you do.”
“Oh! the climate doesn't hurt me now. I've had my share of fever of course; so has everyone on Ocho Rios. The niggers are our chief trouble.”
“Ah! no doubt. By the way, Aulain, of the Black Police is down here on sick leave. He'll be glad to see you.”