e. He looked down at Rallywood consideringly before he spoke.
'So you're here. I imagined they kept you pretty closely on the
frontier. The world been kicking you?'

Rallywood laughed.

'No, but it would do me good to kick the world,' he answered as he
helped himself from the Major's cigar case. 'Five years, almost six,
spent on the frontier, with nothing to show for it, isn't good enough.
I've come up to send in my papers.'

'Then you'll be a fool,' returned the Major with decision.

Rallywood was busy lighting his cigar; when that was arranged to his
satisfaction he said easily--

'Just so. History repeats itself.'

Counsellor stood squarely upright with his hands behind him.

'Any other reasons?' he asked.

'Plenty.'

'Pity! Are they serious or--otherwise?'

Rallywood pulled his moustache.

'Why is it a pity?' he asked slowly.

'Because there is going to be trouble here, and with trouble comes a
chance.'

Rallywood smoked on in silence. He was a big, shallow-flanked man with
the marks of the world upon him, and that indescribable air which comes
to one who has passed a good portion of his time in laughing at the
arbitrary handicaps arranged by Fate in the race of life.

'Where do you propose to go?' asked Counsellor after an interval.

'Back to Africa, I think--Buluwayo, Johannesburg, anywhere. South
Africa's still in the bud, you see.'

'Yes, but it is a biggish bud and will take time to blow. You can afford
to wait and--it may be worth your while.'

Rallywood threw a swift glance at Counsellor's inscrutable face.

'Seven years ago,' he said in a deliberate manner, 'you told me it was
worth while, but life has not grown more interesting since then.'

'Ah!' Counsellor paused, then went on with a grim smile, 'At your age,
John, there are possibilities. Think over it. After hanging on here for
more than five years why lose your chance now? Look at those fellows.'
He pointed out into the square.

Rallywood rose lazily and gazed out also. The prospect was not cheering.
A few troopers, their cloaks flapping in the wind, were galloping across
the square on the way to relieve guard at the Palace, and under the
statue of the late Grand Duke on horseback three men in tall hats stood
talking together; then they turned and walked towards the club.

'Know them?' asked Counsellor.

Rallywood shook his head.

'The man with the beard is Stokes of the 'Times:' next him is Bradley;
he's on another big da