“What do you think about this report?” he asked, in a confidential voice.  “Do you imagine that it will affect prices in Africa?”

“Affect prices!  My dear sir, if it proves true it will ruin the African fields.  The mere report coming in a circumstantial fashion will send prices down fifty per cent.”

“As much as that!” said the merchant, with an excellent affectation of surprise.  “I am anxious about it, for my boy is out there.  It was a hobby of his, and I let him go.  I trust he will not be bitten.”

“He is much more likely to do the biting,” remarked Fugger bluntly.  He had met Ezra Girdlestone in business more than once, and had been disagreeably impressed by the young gentleman’s sharpness.

“Poor lad!” said his father.  “He is young, and has had little experience as yet.  I hope all is well with him!” He shook his head despondently, and walked slowly homewards, but his heart beat triumphantly within him, for he was assured now that the report would influence prices as he had foreseen, and the African firm reap the benefit of their daring speculation.

CHAPTER XX.

MR. HECTOR O’FLAHERTY FINDS SOMETHING IN THE PAPER.

Ezra Girdlestone had taken up his quarters in two private rooms at the Central Hotel, Kimberley, and had already gained a considerable reputation in the town by the engaging “abandon” of his manners, and by the munificent style in which he entertained the more prominent citizens of the little capital.  His personal qualities of strength and beauty had also won him the respect which physical gifts usually command in primitive communities, and the smart young Londoner attracted custom to himself among the diggers in a way which excited the jealousy of the whole tribe of elderly Hebrews who had hitherto enjoyed a monopoly of the trade.  Thus, he had already gained his object in making himself known, and his name was a familiar one in every camp from Waldeck’s Plant to Cawood’s Hope.  Keeping his headquarters at Kimberley, he travelled perpetually along the line of the diggings.  All the time he was chafing secretly and marvelling within himself how it was that no whisper of the expected news had arrived yet from England.

One sunny day he had returned from a long ride, and, having dined, strolled out into the streets, Panama hat upon head and cigar in mouth.  It was the 23rd of October, and he had been nearly ten weeks in the colony.  Since his arrival he had taken to growing a beard.  Otherwise, he was much as we have seen him in London, save that a ruddier glow of health shone upon his sunburned face.  The life of the diggings appeared to agree with him.

As he turned down Stockdale Street, a man passed him leading a pair of horses tired and dusty, with many a strap and buckle hanging down behind them.  After him came another leading a second pair, and after him another with a third.  They were taking them round to the stables.  “Hullo!” cried Ezra, with sudden interest; “what’s up?”