It was not only John Gaunt’s honor to be considered, but the power and influence of his millions. With such wealth behind him there was no limit to the benefits which might be conferred on the poor and suffering.
Drake’s face grew very grave when he remembered the one subject that was wont to fire him with the fiercest indignation—the Congo Free State—and the abominable atrocities that were being committed there.
John Gaunt’s wealth was founded on the tortured labor of the natives of West Africa, and John Gaunt had vowed to right the wrongs that he had committed.
Drake jumped up and began to pace restlessly to and fro.
“I will be this man’s servant. I will endeavor to direct him in the way he should go,” he said, and his voice was filled with a grim resolve.
He knelt beside the chair and prayed for guidance, and when he rose to his feet there was a glad light in his eyes. It was the face of a born fighter—a face ablaze with enthusiasm for a good cause. And now his only fear was that John Gaunt would not have the strength to fulfill his vow. But his fears grew less when he remembered the impression that the millionaire had made upon him.
When he awakened in the morning, it was with the feeling that something good had happened, and he rushed through his work as quickly as possible. It was twelve o’clock when he reached Gaunt’s office, and as soon as he arrived he was conducted into the private office. Gaunt rose to receive him, and held out his hand.
“Have you decided?” he asked quickly.
“Yes, Mr. Gaunt. I am your man. But first I would ask you one question. Have you thoroughly weighed the consequences? Are you prepared to go through with it at any cost?” Drake asked earnestly.
“I intend to keep my promise,” Gaunt answered doggedly. “I am beginning to appreciate that the thing is even bigger than I had imagined. What is it, Foster?” he asked irritably of his secretary who had brought to him a slip of paper.