had a lot
of stations in the old days, and employed Grant as a manager. Grant was
a new chum Scotchman with no money, but a demon for hard work, and the
most headstrong, bad-tempered man that ever lived--hard to hold at any
time. After he'd worked for Gordon for awhile he went to the diggings
and made a huge pile; and when old Gordon got a bit short of cash he
took Grant into partnership."

"It must have been funny for a man to have his old manager as a
partner!"

"It wasn't at all funny for Gordon," said the lawyer, grimly. "Anything
but funny. They each had stations of their own outside the partnership,
and all Gordon's stations went wrong, and Grant's went right. It never
seemed to rain on Gordon's stations, while Grant's had floods. So Gordon
got short of money again and borrowed from Grant, and when he was really
in a fix Grant closed on him and sold him out for good and all."

"What an old screw! What did he do that for?"

"Just pure obstinacy--Gordon had contradicted him or something, so he
sold him up just to show which was right."

"And what did Gordon do after he was sold up?"

"Died, and didn't leave a penny. So then Bully Grant wheeled round and
gave Gordon's widow a station to live on, and fixed the two sons up
managing his stations. Goodness knows how much he's worth now. Doesn't
even know it himself."

"And has he no children? Was he ever married?"

The lawyer lit a cigarette and puffed at it.

"He went to England and got married; there's a daughter. The wife's
dead; the daughter is in England still--never been out here. There's
a story that before he made his money he married a bush girl up on the
station, but no one believes that. The daughter in England will get
everything when he dies. A chance for you, Gillespie. Go home and marry
her--she'll be worth nearly a million of money."

"I'll think about it," said the globe-trotter.

As he spoke a buttony boy came up to the Bo'sun.

"Gentleman to see you, sir," he said. "Mr. Carew, sir."

The Bo'sun hurried off to bring in his guest, while Pinnock called after
him--"Mind your eye, Bo'sun. Be civil to him. See that he doesn't kill a
waiter or two on the way up. Not but what he'd be welcome to do it, for
all the good they are here," he added, gloomily, taking another sip of
his sherry and bitters; and before he had finished it the Bo'sun and his
guest entered the room.

They had expected to see a Hercules, a fiery-faced, fierce-eyed man.
Th