‘And is he considered to be a gentleman, and a man of honour, in this part of the world?’ inquired Mr. Neuchamp in tones of great surprise. ‘Well, he _is_ a gentleman—that is, if good birth, good manners, and a good education go to make one. But he has always speculated to the verge of his capital, and now, stock being rather low, he is decidedly hard up. But he is a wonderfully sharp hand, and he generally contrives to get hold of a “black hat” at least once a year, which has pulled him through so far.’ ‘A black hat?’ demanded Ernest; ‘and why not?—they seem common enough. And why should a hat, black or white, help him in any way?’ ‘You don’t quite understand,’ answered Mr. Frankston, with a twinkle of his fun-loving gray eyes, ‘though it is more a bush expression than a town one, and rather slangy. A “black hat” in Australian parlance means a new arrival. And as people without colonial experience, like yourself, for instance, cannot be expected to understand the relative value of stock and stations, such a purchaser falls an easy prey to a talented but unscrupulous man like your friend Selmore.’ A light suddenly illumined the understanding of Mr. Neuchamp, whose faculties, like those of enthusiasts generally, were keen, if occasionally misdirected. ‘So _that_ was what his friend Evelyn laughingly alluded to when they met us yesterday. “I see you have your black hat with you,” he said.’ ‘By Jove! you don’t say so; did Evelyn say that?’ laughed the commercial mentor; ‘just like him; for two pins he’d have warned you not to believe a word he said. Fine fellow, Evelyn! And what did Mr. Selmore say?’ ‘He only smiled, took off his own hat—an ordinary “Lincoln and Bennett”—stroked it, and put it on his head again.’ ‘Capital, capital! O lord! that was Selmore all over. You can’t easily match him. He has the devil’s own readiness. Deuced clever fellow he always was! It’s a pity, too, really it is. If he were not so desperately cornered, I believe he’s a kind-hearted fellow in the main. But when he has bills to meet he’d take in his own father.’ ‘Thou shalt want ere I want,’ as that famous freelance, Mr. Dugald Dalgetty, formerly of Marischal College, remarked, thought Ernest; but he said, ‘It seems then that my small capital was very nearly appropriated to the retirement of Mr. Selmore’s bills payable, which was _not_ my primary intention in choosing a colonial career. My dear sir, I shall never be sufficiently thankful for your kind advice. What would you advise me to do now, if I may trespass further on your great kindness?’