made up for that defect by once or twice
leaving half-a-sovereign within my ready palm. He appeared suddenly
without warning, and left again, even Omar himself being unaware where he
dwelt.

Truly my friend was a mystery. Who he was, or whence he had come, was a
secret.

CHAPTER II.

OMAR'S SLAVE.

OMAR had been at Trigger's a little over two years when a strange
incident occurred. We were then both aged about sixteen, he a few months
older than myself. The summer holidays had come round again. I had a
month ago visited my uncle in London, and he had given me to understand
that after next term I should leave school and commence life in the City.
He took me to his warehouse in Thames Street and showed me the gas-lit
cellar wherein his clerks were busy entering goods and calling out long
columns of amounts. The prospect was certainly not inviting, for I was
never good at arithmetic, and to spend one's days in a place wherein
never a ray of sunshine entered was to my mind the worst existence to
which one could be condemned.

When I returned I confessed my misgivings to Omar, who sympathised with
me, and we had many long chats upon the situation as during the six weeks
we wandered daily by the sea. We cared little for the Grand Parade, with
its line of garish hotels, tawdry boarding-houses and stucco-fronted
villas, and the crowd of promenaders did not interest us. Seldom even we
went on the pier, except to swim. Our favourite walks were away in the
country through Willingdon to Polegate, over Beachy Head, returning
through East Dean to Litlington and its famed tea-garden, or across
Pevensey Levels to Wartling, for we always preferred the more
unfrequented ways. One day, when I was more than usually gloomy over the
prospect of drudgery under my close-fisted relative, my friend said to me
cheerfully:

"Come, Scars, don't make yourself miserable about it. My people have a
saying that a smile is the only weapon one can use to combat misfortune,
and I think it's true. We have yet a few months more together before you
leave. In life our ways will lie a long way apart. You will become a
trader in your great city, while I shall leave soon, I expect, to----"
and he paused.

"To do what?" I inquired.

"To go back to my own people, perhaps," he answered mechanically.
"Perhaps I shall remain here and wait, I know not."

"Wait for what?"

"Wait until I receive orders to return," he answered. "Ah, you don't know