other.

"What do you say, you fellows?" cut in the first who had spoken. "A
little 'smile' of something before lunch won't do us any harm. Eh? what
do you say?"

"_Ja_, that's so. Come along," sung out the tall man, spinning round
upon one heel and heading for the Exchange bar.

"There's nothing like an Angostura to give one an appetite," said the
dark man to Laurence as they walked along. "It gives tone to the system.
Angostura--with a little drop of gin in it."

"With a little drop of gin in it?" repeated Wheeler, with a derisive
roar. "That's where the tone to the system comes in--eh, Rankin?"

"Only just out from home, are you?" said the latter to Laurence as,
having named their respective "poisons," the original four, with two or
three others who had joined them _en route_, stood absorbing the same.
"Heavens! did you ever hear such a row in your life?" he went on, as
through the open door connecting with the Exchange came the frantic
bawling of brokers, competing wildly for Blazesfonteins, and Verneuk
Laagtes, and Hellpoorts, and Vulture's Vleis, and Madeiras, and Marshes,
and up and down the whole gamut. And there in the crowd lining the bar,
and in the crowd outside the Exchange, and in the crowd upon Market
Square, where the auctioneers stood, well-nigh elbow to elbow, bellowing
from their tubs, and where you might bid for anything from a building
stand or a pair of horses to a concertina or a pair of stays--everywhere
the talk was the same, and it was of scrip. King Scrip ruled the roost.

Just then, however, the subjects of King Scrip were undergoing rather
an anxious time, for the drought was becoming serious. Dams being empty,
batteries could not work; result, scrip drawing within alarming distance
of touching its own value--paper, to wit. And as the dams became more
empty, those with an "n" appended became more and more full--yea,
exceeding full-bodied, and both loud and deep. In the churches they were
praying for rain,--praying hard,--for rain meant money; and in the bars
they were "cussing" for lack of it,--"cussing" hard,--on the same
principle. Then the rain came, and in the churches they sang "Te Deum";
and in the bars they drove a humming trade in champagne, where "John
Walker" had been good enough before. Up went scrip, and Laurence
Stanninghame, having judiciously invested his little all, cleared about
three hundred pounds in as many days. Things began to look rosy.

By this time, too, Laure