If Christian had celebrated the occasion with libations in the local fashion, if he had talked about it and put his achievement to the test of words--if, even, he had been capable of thinking about it in any clear and sober manner instead of merely relishing it with every fiber of his body--the evening's interview might have resolved itself into an act of charity, involving the sacrifice of nothing more than a few sovereigns. As it was, he spent the day in germinating hopes and educating his mind to entertain them. Under the stimulating heat of his sanguine youth, they burgeoned superbly.
As he walked away from the hotel, the florid youth spoke confidentially to the fat shirt-sleeved barman.
"Hear that?" he asked. "_She_ 'll do all right, she will. That 's where a girl 's better off than a man. Who 's the feller, d'you know?"
The barman heaved himself up to look through the window, and laughed wheezily. He was a married man and adored his children, but it was his business to be knowing and worldly.
"It 's young Du Preez," he answered, as Christian stalked away. "One of them Boers, y'know. Got a farm out on the Karoo."
"Not bad," said the barman. "Most of those Dutch could buy you an' me an' use us for mantel ornaments, if they had the good taste."
"So--ho," exclaimed the florid youth. "But they don't carry it about with 'em, worse luck."
He sighed and grew thoughtful. He was thoughtful at intervals for the rest of the morning, and by the afternoon was melancholy and uncertain of step. But he was on hand and watchful when Christian arrived.
Christian was vaguely annoyed when a young man of suave countenance and an expression of deep solemnity thrust up to him at the hotel door and stood swaying and swallowing and making signs as though to command his attention.
"Word with you," requested the other. "Word with you."
He was sufficiently unlike anything that was native to Fereira to be recognizable as an actor and Christian suffered himself to be beckoned into the bar.
"Shall I do it or you?" asked the other. "I shtood so many to-day, sheems to me it 's your turn. Mine 's a whisky. Now, 'bout this li'l girl upshtairs."
"I 'm man of the world," the other went on, with the seriousness of the thoroughly drunken. "Know more 'bout the world then ever you knew in yer bally life. An' I don't blame you--norra bit. Now what I want shay is this: I can fix it for you if you 're good for a fiver. Jush a fiver--shave trouble and time, eh? Nice li'l girl, too. Worth it."