At this stage of his reflections he collected his correspondence, and, locking them up in his long-disused travelling portfolio, went forth into the town. Here he was confronted with the world's news, and details of this, the latest of Britain's little wars, in particular. First of all he betook himself to the offices of the New Zealand Land Company, where his first colonial acquaintance and fellow-passenger, Mr. Dudley Slyde, might be found.
That gentleman was, happily, in, but his arduous duties as secretary and dispenser of reports seemed for the moment in abeyance. He was engaged in packing a sort of knapsack to contain as many of the indispensable necessaries of a man of fashion, and apparently a man of war, as could be adjusted to an unusual limitation of space. A rifle stood in the corner of the apartment; a revolver of the newest construction then attainable lay on a table; the smallest modicum of writing materials was observable; and, neatly folded on a chair, was a serviceable military uniform.
"Delighted to see you, old fellow," said Mr. Slyde. "Sit down. Try this tobacco: given up cigars for the present—don't carry well. Suppose you've taken to a pipe, too, since you've begun your Maori career? Got back alive, I see. Didn't join the tribe, eh? Report to that effect. Girl at Rotorua, fascinating, very."
This suggestive compendium of his life and times caused a smile.
"You're as near the truth as rumour generally is," he said; "but I wonder that people concern themselves with the doings of this humble individual."
"New country, you know. Great dearth of social intelligence since the war. Tired of that, naturally. Free press, you know; say anything, confound them!"
"Another chapter in the book of colonial experience, which I shall learn by degrees. But what am I to understand by these warlike preparations?"
"You see before you a full private in the Forest Rangers. Must join something, you know. Situation serious. More murders. Waikato said to be joining. Taranaki settlers afraid of sack and pillage. Troops and men-of-war sent for. In the mean time, the devil to pay. What shall you do? Go back to England? I would, if I wasn't a poor devil of a Company's clerk and what you call it."
Massinger stood up, and looked at the lounging figure fixedly for a moment, until he saw a smile gradually making its way over the calm features of his companion.