"Explanations can wait," he replied. "You must be hungry. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. Meanwhile, I'll show you the bathroom. Where's your kit?"
Peter had to admit that he was hungry. The fact that he needed a bath required no verbal confirmation. He was covered with dust. The absence of his baggage was explained.
"If you had only let me know," commented Uncle Brian, "I'd have met you at the landing-stage and saved a lot of bother. What did they rush you for custom dues?"
His nephew told him, at the same time thinking ruefully that his ready capital had already shrunk to three hundred dollars.
"H'm. I think I'd have got you passed through for less than that," commented Mr. Strong. "We'll go into the matter later."
Peter made his way to the bathroom, puzzling his brains over Uncle Brian and his sayings.
He had not seen his uncle for about fifteen years, and impressions at the age of five are apt to be somewhat distorted. Then he remembered Uncle Brian as a tall, gruff-voiced man of great age. Now his uncle looked quite small—hardly up to Peter's shoulder. His voice was still gruff. He usually spoke in short, crisp sentences, until he warmed up to any topic that interested him. His actual age was forty-eight, but his fresh complexion and athletic build made him look much younger.
A mining engineer by profession, Brian Strong had wandered far from the beaten track in the critical years from 1914 onwards. He was in Australia when war was declared, and promptly came home at his own expense to offer his services to his country. They were accepted—after a tedious delay—and his first war-job was that of inspecting hay and straw, notwithstanding his frank assurance that he knew little about hay and straw, beyond being able to distinguish one from another. After twelve months or more of this totally uncongenial and monotonous work, Strong found a slightly better post in the Ministry of Munitions. Here his professional knowledge of mining might have been utilized, but no! He was attached to a section dealing with the extraction of explosives from wood pulp. There was some consolation. He was helping to fight the Huns, albeit still a square peg in a round hole. His last venture during the Great War was more to his liking. He was appointed to the experimental works of a Government aeroplane factory. Here he could show initiative, and before long several of his ideas were embodied in the latest types of bombing machines.
The War over, Brian Strong found himself out of a job. This, of course, he expected; but for various reasons he decided not to return to Australia, but to try his luck in South America. The old roving spirit, rigorously controlled for four years, now reasserted itself. Within ten months he had visited Brazil, Uruguay, the Argentine, Chile, Peru, and Bolivia, and was on the point of making his way to Mexico, when, quite on the spur of the moment, he decided to take up a Government post in the Republic of Rioguay. On the face of it, the appointment was that of consulting mining engineer to the Republic, and was for one year. Already Brian Strong had held the post for three years, but the nature of his duties had nothing to do with mining, but with something entirely different.
That evening, Peter and his uncle dined alone. Usually there were other members of the establishment present—Rioguayans assisting Brian Strong in his work, and very frequently officials from the capital. On this occasion there were no guests, and Brian had dispensed with his usual table companions, since they spoke no English and Peter knew nothing of the dialect of the country.