Mr Philip Martin was an intelligent and entertaining speaker, with
enough of the boy still about him to make him understand and interest
our heroes.
His age was thirty-two, and he had both travelled and read a great deal.
A South African by birth and descent of three generations, all his
sympathies and hopes lay in his native land. England, or rather
Scotland, had been the original home of his ancestors, and their
traditions of liberty and independence were not forgotten. But it was
Africa, not Scotland, which held all that was most sacred to him.
He had come to Johannesburg to superintend one of the mines, the same
one from which Mr Raybold drew most of his immense income. Philip
Martin was therefore a man with no personal vested interests in the
Transvaal beyond his salary. He could therefore leave whenever he liked
this inhospitable soil to Uitlanders.
He could also plot and conspire, without the same risks that Mr Raybold
ran. This perhaps rendered him more daring and independent than his
host.
During dinner, when not talking about the market, they conversed on
indifferent subjects. Mr Martin seemed chiefly interested in hearing
all about the life the lads had led at school.
Ned had a notion that this bright, strong, swarthy man, with his air of
interest, was drawing them out for some purpose of his own, and was
reading them all the time he asked questions and listened to their
replies.
But he did not mind being studied, as his record and those of his
companions were clean ones. Besides, he found it a pleasure to give his
confidence to this man, for already he liked him very greatly, and felt
that he would not be misjudged.
So the three lads rattled on, recalling incidents of victories won in
the class and in the field, while Mr Martin listened with his keen,
bright eyes glowing upon them alternately, as if in his heart he was
moving again with them through those merry past times.
Mr Raybold also sat looking at them and listening with the indulgent
smile of a genial host, who is pleased to find his guests enjoying
themselves.
It was a good dinner, and the lads did full justice to it, in spite of
their chatter, for they had brought with them good travellers'
appetites. The solids disappeared rapidly as they were placed before
them, without in the least spoiling their zest for the dessert. The
wines, however, they did not touch, which Mr Martin also abstained
from. Mr Raybold was the only one who indulged in anything stronger
than water.
"What do you drink?" asked Mr Martin, during a pause.
"Water," answered our heroes.
"Right you are. That is my tipple also when I can get it; but in Africa
one has to grow accustomed to moderate their desires even in this
indulgence--particularly when on an exploring expedition."
"And that was our intention in coming out to Africa."
"You'll have your chance, never fear. There is plenty of ground yet
left to explore, and lots of big game to bag up country."
Clarence looked wistfully and affectionately at his father during the
dinner, who returned his glances with tenderness. The abject expression
which Mr Raybold had seemed to have worn in the afternoon had now been
replaced by an air of placid content and kindliness. Clarence felt
greatly relieved, and began to regain hope and confidence.
"Are you going to the club tonight, Philip?" he asked.
"Yes; I'll look in there about ten o'clock. Shall you be there?"
"Yes; I think so," replied the capitalist, quietly. "I have a few calls
to make first."
"I suppose you don't object to me taking the youngsters, to show them
about?"
"Well--no. If you consider them old enough, I don't greatly object."
There was not much heartiness in Mr Raybold's tones, and he looked in
the direction of his son with a slightly troubled eye, while he rubbed
his chin reflectively.
"Oh, I'll vouch for them, and take care that they do not get into any
scrapes also," answered Mr Martin, confidently.
"Very well; I'll trust them under your wing. Come into my sanctum and
have a cigar first."
Mr Raybold rose and led the way with a pleasant smile; then, dismissing
the servant who had followed them with coffee, he locked the door, and
turned round to Philip Martin with a stern face--
"Look here, Philip, I don't like this! I am risking the biggest part of
my fortune, and possibly my own life, to help on the cause, but I draw
the line at giving up my son also."
Clarence sprang forward with a joyous cry, and flung his arms
impulsively round his father's neck.
"Oh, father, how happy you have made me by those words! So you are not,
after all, a tame serf?"
"Wait, Clarence. I am speaking to Mr Martin at present," said his
father, gravely, at the same time pushing him away gently.
"I have learnt enough from these lads, Mr Raybold, to know that no
power on earth will keep them out of the fun if they live in
Johannesburg," answered Philip Martin, calmly. "If we don't show them
what is going on under the surface, they are too recently from the home
of freedom to be able to endure the life here."
"I can send them away."
"Where? To Rhodesia, where they will be picked up and utilised by our
friends outside?"
Mr Raybold remained silent, as if he had not a reply handy.
"Best get them initiated first," continued Philip, "and then they will
be able to hold their own. Cecil Rhodes has already seen them, and
trusts them, young as they are; and you know he is not the man to make
many mistakes. Besides, think of your son's feelings. He must respect
his father. Just give him a chance to speak for himself."
"Yes, father; let us go with Mr Martin. I want to be proud as well as
fond of my father. We all want to help to shake down this horrible
tyranny, and we can be trusted."
"Those are our sentiments, sir," echoed Ned and Fred--"to be of some
service to the British, and help to wipe out those ugly stains that now
lie on our flag."
"My lads," answered Mr Raybold, gravely, "it is not that I do not trust
you, but that I fear to risk you. What has to be done is our business,
not yours--men's work, not boys'."
"Where a father goes, surely it is a son's duty to follow," said
Clarence.
"We'll take the risk. And if we are boys, we are able to fight as well
as most men, and run a good deal faster, if running is the game," added
Ned, with a flash in his eyes.
"Besides," said Fred, quietly, "we know too much already not to know
more."