Two men--one young, the other about fifty--sat in the veranda of a
small bungalow. It was after breakfast. They lay back in long
bamboo chairs, each with a cigar. It looked as if they were resting.
In reality they were talking business, and that very seriously.
"Yes, sir," said the elder man, with something of an American accent,
"I have somehow taken a fancy to this place. The situation is
healthy."
"Well, I don't know; I've had more than one touch of fever here."
"The climate is lovely--"
"Except in the rains."
"The soil is fertile--"
"I've dropped five thousand in it, and they haven't come up again
yet."
"They will. I have been round the estate, and I see money in it.
Well, sir, here's my offer: five thousand down, hard cash, as soon as
the papers are signed."
Reginald sat up. He was on the point of accepting the proposal, when
a pony rode up to the house, and the rider, a native groom, jumped
off, and gave him a note. He opened it and read. It was from his
nearest neighbor, two or three miles away: "Don't sell that man your
estate. Gold has been found. The whole country is full of gold.
Hold on. He's an assayer. If he offers to buy, be quite sure that
he has found gold on your land.--F.G."
He put the note into his pocket, gave a verbal message to the boy,
and turned to his guest, without betraying the least astonishment or
emotion.
"I beg your pardon. The note was from Bellamy, my next neighbor.
Well? You were saying--"
"Only that I have taken a fancy--perhaps a foolish fancy--to this
place of yours, and I'll give you, if you like, all that you have
spent upon it."
"Well," he replied, reflectively, but with a little twinkle in his
eye, "that seems handsome. But the place isn't really worth the half
that I have spent upon it. Anybody would tell you that. Come, let
us be honest, whatever we are. I'll tell you a better way. We will
put the matter into the hands of Bellamy. He knows what a coffee
plantation is worth. He shall name a price, and if we can agree upon
that, we will make a deal of it."
The other man changed color. He wanted to settle the thing at once
as between gentlemen. What need of third parties? But Reginald
stood firm, and he presently rode away, quite sure that in a day or
two this planter, too, would have heard the news.
A month later, the young coffee-planter stood on the deck of a
steamer homeward bound. In his pocket-book was a plan of his
auriferous estate; in a bag hanging round his neck was a small
collection of yellow nuggets; in his boxes was a chosen assortment of
quartz.