you have always got one
friend in this country at any rate, and his name is Bob Kingsland.
Well, Maitland," as Harry rejoined them, "ready to start on such short
marching orders, eh?"

"Rather. Anything to get away from those beastly mosquitoes."

They took leave of their kind entertainer and returned to their lodgings
to pack up their traps.

"Rattling good chap, old Kingsland," said Gerard, enthusiastically, when
they were alone again.

The straight commonsense counsel, the kind and friendly interest in him
and his welfare, and that on the part of a comparative stranger, on
whose good offices he had not a shadow of a claim, touched him deeply.
Moreover, he felt cheered, morally braced up for whatever start in life
might lie before him. There and then he resolved more firmly than ever
that whatever his right hand should find to do, he would do it with all
his might.

Gerard Ridgeley's story was that of many another youngster who has begun
life under similar circumstances. He was the eldest son of a
professional man, a struggling surgeon in a provincial town, who had
recently died, leaving his widow with a family of five and the scantiest
of means whereon to maintain, let alone educate, the same. His father,
an easy-going thriftless man, had fixed on no definite profession for
him, dimly reckoning on the chance that "something was sure to turn up"
when the boy was old enough. But the only unexpected thing that did
"turn up" was the doctor's sudden death in the prime of his years, and
the consequent straitened circumstances of his widow and family.

So Gerard was removed from school--indeed it was time he should be in
any case, for he had turned eighteen. The good offices of an uncle were
invoked on his behalf, and somewhat grudgingly given. He was offered
his choice between a stool in a counting-house and a free passage to any
British colony, with an outfit and a few pounds to start him fair upon
landing, and being a fine, strong, manly lad, he had no hesitation in
choosing the latter alternative. Then it became a question of selecting
the colony, and here the choice became perplexing. But Mrs Ridgeley
remembered that a distant relation of hers had emigrated to Natal some
years earlier. It was true she hardly knew this relative; still "blood
was thicker than water," and he might be able to give Gerard a helping
hand. So it was decided to ship the boy to Natal accordingly.

It was hard to part with him