ger must be
cared for, must be placed in a position where he could have his start
in life. Somehow Jigger was associated with all the movements of his
life now, and was taken as part of the problem. What to do? He thought
of it as he went eastward, and it did not seem easy to settle it.
Jigger himself, however, cut the Gordian knot.

When he was told that Stafford was going to South Africa, and that it
was a question as to what he--Jigger--should now do, in what sphere of
life his abnormally "cute" mind must run, he answered, instantly.

"I'm goin' wiv y'r gryce," he said. "That's it--stryght. I'm goin' out
there wiv you."

Ian shook his head and smiled sadly. "I'm afraid that's not for you,
Jigger. No, think again."

"Ain't there work in Souf Afriker--maybe not in the army itself, y'r
gryce? Couldn't I have me chanct out there? Lou's all right now, I bet;
an' I could go as easy as can be."

"Yes, Lou will be all right now," remarked Stafford, with a reflective
irony.

"I ain't got no stiddy job here, and there's work in Souf Afriker,
ain't they? Couldn't I get a job holdin' horses, or carryin' a flag, or
cleanin' the guns, or nippin' letters about--couldn't I, y'r gryce? I'm
only askin' to go wiv you, to work, same as ever I did before I was run
over. Ain't I goin' wiv you, y'r gryce?"

With a sudden resolve Stafford laid a hand on his shoulder. "Yes, you
are going 'wiv' me, Jigger. You just are, horse, foot, and artillery.
There'll be a job somewhere. I'll get you something to do, or--"

"Or bust, y'r gryce?"

So the problem lessened, and Ian's face cleared a little. If all the
difficulties perplexing his life would only clear like that! The babe
and the suckling had found the way so simple, so natural; and it was a
comforting way, for he had a deep and tender regard for this quaint,
clever waif who had drifted across his path.

To-morrow he would come and fetch Jigger: and Jigger's face followed
him into the coming dusk, radiant and hopeful and full of life--of life
that mattered. Jigger would go out to "Souf Afriker" with all his life
before him, but he, Ian Stafford, would go with all his life behind
him, all mile-stones passed except one.

So, brooding, he walked till he came to an underground station, and
there took a train to Charing Cross. Here he was only a little distance
away from the Embankment, where was to be found Adrian Fellowes; and
with bent head he made his way among the motley crowd in