o good," he said at length. "The fact is,
he came to something like utter grief. He wouldn't start doing
anything--got into a habit of loafing around bare--went the way of,
unfortunately, many another young fellow who comes out to the Colonies--
took to drink. Once he did that he was done for. Some of us did try to
get him into something and keep him straight, but it was no good. He
was off again and on the spree like a journeyman stonemason. Well, his
father, a parson of some sort, I believe, got angry when he heard how he
was going on, and cut off the supplies; and then Master Harry, after
getting into a serious scrape or two--in fact, I had to bail him out
once myself--goes and enlists in the Mounted Police. I myself should
have left him there to serve his time if I had been his people--it might
have done him good. But no; as soon as they heard of it they must move
Heaven and earth and the Government to get him out of it; and it wasn't
easily managed, I can tell you, only Master Harry proved such a shocking
bad hat that the police authorities were only too glad to get rid of
him. His father wrote to me about him, asking me to take his passage
and send him straight home again. And I did--shipped him on board--what
do you think!--our old hooker the _Amatikulu_; and as she's a direct
boat and touches nowhere on the way, he can't get ashore again."

"I'm sorry the chap should have turned out so badly," said Gerard, his
mind reverting to the almost direct cut Harry Maitland had given him on
the last occasion of their meeting, and when he himself was down on his
luck. "By the way, what has become of Anstey?"

"They sold him up just after you left. One of his creditors took out a
writ of imprisonment against him, but finding he'd got to pay so much a
day while Anstey was locked up, he soon got sick of throwing good money
after bad--and friend Anstey was turned loose again. He cleared out
soon after--nobody knows where."

The speaker paused for a minute or two. Then he went on--

"And now, Ridgeley, if it's not an impertinent question from an old
fellow who's interested in your welfare, what _are_ your own plans? I
remember you telling me when you first came out here you were anxious to
take to farming. Is this still your idea, or has your year of
adventure--and, by Jove, you have had some adventures too!--unsettled
you, unfitted you for anything but a wandering life?"

"Rather the other way, Mr Kingsland