Again Dunn paused. “I wish I could tell you. He's had hard luck this summer. He somehow can't get hold of himself. In fact, I'm quite worried about Cameron. I can't tell you chaps the whole story, but last spring he had a really bad jolt.”
“Well, what's he going to do?” Martin asked, somewhat impatiently.
“I wish I knew,” replied Dunn gloomily. “There seems nothing he can get here that's suitable. I'm afraid he will have to try the Colonies; Canada for preference.”
“Oh, I say, Dunn,” exclaimed Martin, “it can't really be as bad as all that?”
Dunn laughed. “I apologise, old chap. That was rather a bad break, wasn't it? But all the same, to a Scotchman, and especially to a Highlander, to leave home and friends and all that sort of thing, you know—”
“No, he doesn't know,” cried Linklater. “The barbarian! How could he?”
“No, thank God,” replied Martin fervently, “I don't know! To my mind any man that has a chance to go to Canada on a good job ought to call in his friends and neighbours to rejoice with him.”
“But I say, that reminds me,” said Dunn. “Mr. Rae is coming to have a talk with my governor and me about this very thing to-morrow night. I'd like awfully if you could drop in, Martin; and you, too, Linklater.”
Linklater declined. “My folks have something on, I fear.”
Martin hesitated, protesting that there was “altogether too much of this coddling business” in the matter of Cameron's future. “Besides, my work is rather crowding me.”