charge, and for his charge's
father, and, worse still perhaps, his reliability would stand impugned.
Now, it was precisely for reliability that Harley Greenoak enjoyed a
reputation little short of infallible, and of this he himself was aware,
and, though secretly, was intensely proud.

He wondered if Hesketh--sly old fox--had brought about the situation
with deliberate design, in order to do a good turn to his kinsfolk. It
might well have been--and one could hardly blame him if it were so.
Instinctively Greenoak realised that it would be useless for him to
interfere at this stage. He had tried it at an earlier one, though
"interfere" is too strong a word for the easy, natural, tactful way in
which he had suggested they should move somewhere else. His charge,
equally and naturally, but quite good-humouredly, had scouted the idea.
Hesketh would be hurt, he had declared. He was no end of a jolly old
chap, and he, Dick, wouldn't offend him for the world. And then
Haakdoornfontein was no end of a jolly place, with a different shoot, by
Jingo, for every day in the year. And Greenoak had laughed drily, as he
reflected that his charge's enthusiasm for that form of sport had
flagged perceptibly of late. But like a wise man and a tactful one he
had known better than to push the suggestion further. Things must just
take their course, he decided. A matter of this kind was a delicate
one, and one in which the man most concerned must judge for himself. At
any rate, it was clean outside his own province.

"These young 'uns, you know, will have their heads," now went on old
Hesketh, puffing out smoke. "I suppose we took our doses of
foolishness, Greenoak, when we were at their time. Though, I dunno
about me. It was just `yes or no' with the old woman, `take it or leave
it.' She took it, and managed the place. I don't know, either, that
things haven't been quieter--well, since I've managed it myself," he
added drily.

There lay the summing up of a lifetime; a hard, lonely, matter-of-fact,
out-of-the-world lifetime. Greenoak nodded. He was not going to make
any comment on the situation. He was not going to ruffle his old
friend's susceptibilities by any suggestion that Dick's father might
object, more or less strongly, to the said situation and its logical
outcome. Old Hesketh's social creed was simplicity itself: "Black's
black and white's white, and one white man's as good as another, and no
better." This Greenoa