"Why not stay on here a bit, Gerard, and help me in the store?"
Thus Anstey, on the following day, after dinner. The two were alone.
Harry Maitland had returned to Maritzburg, disgusted with the exceeding
roughness of his night's quarters, which together with the booming
snores of Smith, who slept in the adjoining store, had effectually
hindered him from getting any sleep to speak of. Gerard, however, had
yielded to his relative's urgent invitation to stay a few days and talk
matters over. He, too, found his quarters none too comfortable, and he
did not like Anstey--indeed, he feared he never should like him; but, he
reflected with something of a sigh, beggars cannot be choosers. He was
a stranger in a strange land, and after all this man was his relative,
though a distant one, and showed every desire to help him.
"It is very good of you," he replied. "But I know nothing of that sort
of business."
"Pooh! You don't want to know anything--at least--that is--I mean,"
correcting himself hurriedly, "there's nothing very technical about it.
You only want a little commonsense and ordinary smartness, and of that I
should say you had plenty. Well, then, we'll consider the matter
settled. Smith is leaving me soon, and until he does I'll give you ten
shillings a week and the run of your teeth. Afterwards I'll give you
more. You see, you'll be learning a useful business all for nothing--a
very paying one, too--and getting a trifle of pay for it besides. The
fact is, Gerard, I want a decent kind of fellow-countryman about me, an
educated chap like yourself. One falls into rough ways all by one's
self."
There was such a genuine ring about this speech, that Gerard felt quite
ashamed of his former mistrust. What a snob he had been to dislike the
man because he was a bit wanting in polish! The thought moved him to
throw an extra warmth into his expressions of thanks.
"Pooh! my dear fellow, don't say another word," said Anstey.
"By-and-by, when you are thoroughly up to the mark, I might leave you
here in charge, and open another place somewhere else. Extend the
business, don't you know--extend the business. Storekeeping's the most
paying thing in the world if you only know what you're about. I've
always intended to extend as soon as I could get hold of some decent
fellow, and that lout Smith's of no good," sinking his voice. "I'm
getting rid of him. Then, when you know your business, I might take you
into partnership, and we might run houses all over the Colony."
To a practically penniless lad, who had just come out there to seek his
fortune, this was very glowing, very tempting sort of talk. Gerard
began to see himself already coining wealth, as the other had said "hand
over fist," and again he felt ashamed of his first unfavourable
impressions of the man who was now so freely holding out to him a
helping hand.
But when he set to work in real earnest, he discovered, as many another
had done before him and will do again, that the royal road to wealth, if
sure, was desperately slow, and to one of his temperament intolerably
irksome. The whole day, from early morning till long after dark, was
spent in the close atmosphere of that stuffy room, rendered foetid by
the chronic presence of uncleanly natives, and such unsavoury goods as
hides, sheepskins, etc., handing things over the counter in exchange for
the hard-earned sixpences and threepenny-bits of his dusky customers.
Now and then, too, a white traveller or transport-rider would look in to
make a purchase, and the short, offhand manner of some of these would
try his temper sorely. Was it for this he had come out to Natal? Where
was the free, healthy, open-air life he and his young companions at home
had so glowingly evolved? He remembered the envy with which his
schoolfellows had regarded him when they knew he was going out to a
colony. Would he be an object for envy if they could see him now? Why,
he was more of a prisoner than ever he had been when chained, as he
thought, to the school desks. He had, in fact, become nothing more nor
less than a shopkeeper.
Smith had in no wise seemed to resent the presence of his supplanter.
He was even impassively good-natured, and in his stolid way would give
Gerard the benefit of his experience. He put him up to all the little
tricks of the native customers, and showed him innumerable dodges for
lightening his own labour. As for books, why, there were none to speak
of, or at any rate they were precious queerly kept, he said. Anstey
would just clear the till when he thought there was enough in it, or
when he wanted to go away anywhere; then it would fill up again as
before, with like result.
"I suppose you know," said Smith, in his wooden, expressionless manner,
"I've got the sack on your account?"
Gerard started.
"On my account! Surely not. Why, I thought you were going anyhow."
"So? Well, I wasn't. Soon as you came, Anstey gave me notice to
clear."
"Good heavens! But that would be beastly unfair to you," cried Gerard,
in great distress. "I'll tell him I won't agree. I'll go and tell him
now at once."
"Sit still, Ridgeley. That wouldn't help me any. You're a good fellow,
I believe, and if it was any one but Anstey, I'd say it was kind of
natural to want to stick in his own relation. Still, I've done very
well for him, and for less pay than most chaps would ask. But, to tell
the truth, I'm sick of the berth, dead sick of it, and had made up my
mind to clear anyhow. Don't you get bothering Anstey over it. I say,
though. He was pretty boozy last night, eh?"
Gerard shrugged his shoulders with a look of mingled distress and
disgust. He had noted with some anxiety that his relative was too much
addicted to the bottle, but he had never seen him quite so bad as on the
occasion just alluded to. Anstey himself had referred to this failing
once or twice, declaring that the sort of life was of a nature to make
any man feel "hipped," and take a "pick-me-up" too many, but that now he
had got a decent fellow for company he reckoned it might make a
difference. He seemed, in fact, to have taken a real liking to his
young kinsman, and would sit at home of an evening on purpose to talk to
him, instead of riding off to the nearest bar. Gerard had begun to
think he might even be instrumental in getting him out of his drinking
habits.
One day Smith, while absent for some minutes from the store, was
attracted back again by something of a hubbub going on therein.
Returning, he beheld Gerard confronted by three natives, the latter
haranguing and gesticulating wildly in remonstrance, the former
gesticulating almost as wildly, but tongue-tied by reason of his
inability to master more than a few words of their language. The
natives were holding out to Gerard two large bottles filled with some
liquid, which he was as emphatically refusing to accept.
"What's the row, Ridgeley?"
"Row?" answered Gerard, in a disgusted tone. "Row? Why, these fellows
asked me to fill their bottles with paraffin, and I did so. Now they
won't pay for it, and want me to take it back."
Smith opened his head, and emitted as large a guffaw as he ever allowed
himself to indulge in. Then he went to the front door and looked out
over the _veldt_, and returning took the two bottles and emptied their
contents back into the paraffin tin. Then he gave the bottles a brief
rinse in a tub of water, and filling them up from another tin precisely
similar to the first, handed them to the natives. The latter paid down
their money, and stowing the bottles carefully away among their
blankets, departed, now thoroughly satisfied.
"Didn't I give them the right kind?" said Gerard, who had witnessed this
performance with some amazement. "Ah, I see!" he broke off, as an odour
of spirits greeted his nostrils.
"You just didn't give them the right kind. Look here. When a nigger
brings a bottle and asks for paraffin, and goes like this--see?" making
a rapid sort of drinking sign, "you fill it out of this tin."
"But why don't they ask for it outright? Isn't there a word for it in
their language? Those fellows distinctly said `paraffin.'"
Again Smith emitted that half-hearted guffaw.
"Look here, Ridgeley. I'd have put you up to the ropes, but reckoned it
was Anstey's business. Don't you know the law of the Colony doesn't
allow grog to be sold to niggers, even in licenced houses, but there's a
sight of it done for all that. This isn't a licenced house, but we've
got to run with the times."
"And what if you're caught?"
"Mortal stiff fine. But that would be Anstey's look-out, not yours or
mine. And I tell you what. It's lucky for him I ain't a chap who's
likely to bear a grudge or cut up nasty, or I might round on him
properly for giving me the sack."
This incident had set Gerard thinking, and in fact it added considerable
weight to his dissatisfaction with his present position. Honest trade
was one thing, but to be required daily to break the laws of the land
was another. After Smith's departure, he put the matter fairly to his
employer.
"Oh, hang it! every one does it," was the characteristic reply. "You'll
never get on in life, Gerard, if you carry all those scruples along with
you. Too much top-hamper, don't you know--capsize the ship. See? Eh,
what? Against the law, did you say? Well, that's the fault of the law
for being so rotten. Meanwhile, we've got to live, and if the fellows
don't buy grog here they will at the next place. We may just as well
get their custom as the other Johnny. Besides, it's good for trade all
round. They will always deal for choice at a place where they know they
can get a glass or a bottle of grog when they want it."
Apart from being in itself an abstraction, the "law" is a thing which
stands in much the same relationship towards the average respectable
citizen its the schoolmaster does towards even the best-disposed of
boys--to wit, there is about it a smack of the "natural enemy." This
being so--we record it with grief--Gerard, who was young, and though a
well-principled lad, very much removed from a prig, allowed his
conscience to be so far seared as to accept and indeed act upon this
explanation. We further regret to add that he filled many and many a
subsequent bottle with "paraffin," as set forward in Smith's
instructions, receiving the price therefor without a qualm.
He was now in charge of the whole place, and his sense of authority and
responsibility had gone far towards reconciling him to the irksomeness
of the life. He was able to write home with some pride, saying that he
had found employment from the very first, and not only employment, but
fair prospects of advancement--thanks to Anstey--which entailed upon
that worthy a more grateful letter of acknowledgment than he deserved,
as we shall see. He had mastered a good many Zulu words--that being the
language of nearly all the natives of Natal, whether of pure or mixed
race--and was getting on well all round. He had made his rough quarters
as comfortable as he could, having sent over to Maritzburg for his
outfit. Still, the life, as we have said, was terribly irksome. Day
after day, the same monotonous round. He had no acquaintances of his
own age or social standing. Now and again some friend of his employer's
would drop in and literally make a night of it, and then his disgust and
depression knew no bounds. Then, too, his prospects seemed to vanish
into clouds and mist. Would he, too, become one day like Anstey,
stagnating out his life in a dead grey level, without a thought or
interest beyond the exigencies of the hour? And he would gaze wearily
out upon the open level flat of the _veldt_, which surrounded the place,
and the dusty monotonous riband of road, and it would seem, young as he
was, that life was hardly worth living at the price. Still, he was
earning his own livelihood, and the novelty and independence of the
feeling went far to counterbalance all other drawbacks.
One day Anstey said to him, "Wouldn't you like to have some interest,
some share in the business, Gerard?"
"Some interest!" he echoed, thinking that he had rather too much of
that, seeing that his employer left all the burden of it to him and
pocketed all the advantages himself.
"Why yes. How would it be to put something into it? It would give you
a share--make you a kind of partner, don't you see?"
"But I haven't got anything to put into it except the mere trifle I
brought out with me."
"Wouldn't the people at home invest something for you, eh? It would pay
them and--you--a thundering rate of interest, and give you a share in
the concern besides."
But Gerard was able completely to disabuse Anstey's mind of any
illusions on that head. "The people at home" had done all they could in
scraping together enough for Gerard's passage and outfit, together with
a few pounds to start him on landing. There was not the faintest chance
of them doing anything further.
"How much did you bring out with you?" pursued Anstey.
Gerard was able to inform him he had brought out about thirty pounds;
but what with travelling and other expenses he had not much more than
twenty-five at his disposal--a mere trifle.
"A mere trifle indeed," rejoined Anstey. "But then we all have to start
upon trifles. Now, why not put that twenty-five pounds into this
concern? You would get interest on it, and it would have the additional
advantage of being, so to speak, under your own eye instead of lying
idle at the bank. I should strongly recommend you to invest it in this.
But think it well over first."
And Gerard, after thinking it over, resolved to follow his relative's
advice, and invested his twenty-five pounds accordingly.
He had now been three months with Anstey, and the latter had kept him
pretty well with his nose to the grindstone, discouraging especially any
desire to visit Maritzburg. He had far better stick to business, he
said. Knocking around the city might be good enough fun for fellows
with plenty of coin, but one with scarcely any was very likely to get
rid of what little he had. Of Harry Maitland, Gerard had hardly heard
since they parted. He had received one letter stating that the writer
had found a lot of friends through his letters of introduction, among
whom he was having a right good time. He would ride over some day and
see him. But that day never came. Harry was not going to take the
trouble to hunt up a fellow who had become what he superciliously termed
a mere counter-jumper. So Gerard just plodded on, determined to stick
to what was a certainty as long as possible in spite of everything, the
"everything" being mainly a certain change which he thought to have
detected of late in his employer's behaviour towards him--a change not
for the better.
But just at this time there befell him an adventure which was destined
to affect materially his after destinies, and that in more ways than
one.