“What an old screw! What did he do that for?”
“Just pure obstinacy—Gordon had contradicted him or something, so he sold him up just to show which was right.”
“And what did Gordon do after he was sold up?”
“Died, and didn’t leave a penny. So then Bully Grant wheeled round and gave Gordon’s widow a station to live on, and fixed the two sons up managing his stations. Goodness knows how much he’s worth now. Doesn’t even know it himself.”
“And has he no children? Was he ever married?”
The lawyer lit a cigarette and puffed at it.
“He went to England and got married; there’s a daughter. The wife’s dead; the daughter is in England still—never been out here. There’s a story that before he made his money he married a bush girl up on the station, but no one believes that. The daughter in England will get everything when he dies. A chance for you, Gillespie. Go home and marry her—she’ll be worth nearly a million of money.”
“I’ll think about it,” said the globe-trotter.
As he spoke a buttony boy came up to the Bo’sun.
“Gentleman to see you, sir,” he said. “Mr. Carew, sir.”
The Bo’sun hurried off to bring in his guest, while Pinnock called after him—“Mind your eye, Bo’sun. Be civil to him. See that he doesn’t kill a waiter or two on the way up. Not but what he’d be welcome to do it, for all the good they are here,” he added, gloomily, taking another sip of his sherry and bitters; and before he had finished it the Bo’sun and his guest entered the room.
They had expected to see a Hercules, a fiery-faced, fierce-eyed man. This was merely a broad-shouldered, well-built, well-groomed youth, about twenty-three years of age; his face was square and rather stolid, clean-shaven, brown-complexioned, with honest eyes and a firm-set mouth. As he stood at the door he adopted the wooden expression that a University man always wears in the presence of strangers. He said nothing on being introduced to Pinnock; and when the globe-trotter came up and claimed acquaintance, defining himself as “Gillespie of Balliol,” the stranger said he didn’t remember him, and regarded him with an aspect of armed neutrality. After a sherry and bitters he thawed a little, and the Bo’sun started to cross-examine him.
“Mr. Grant of Kuryong wired to me about you,” he said. “I suppose you came in the _Carthaginia?_”