An African Millionaire: Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel ClayAllen, Grant
Philosophy
An African Millionaire: Episodes in the Life of the Illustrious Colonel Clay
Allen, Grant
Detective and mystery stories
Would he ask for items? I confess I felt it was an awkward moment.
Charles, however, was too full of regrets to bother about the
account. He leaned back in his easy chair, stuck his hands in his
pockets, held his legs straight out on the fender before him, and
looked the very picture of hopeless despondency.
"Sey," he began, after a minute or two, poking the fire,
reflectively, "what a genius that man has! 'Pon my soul, I
admire him. I sometimes wish--" He broke off and hesitated.
"Yes, Charles?" I answered.
"I sometimes wish ... we had got him on the Board of the Cloetedorp
Golcondas. Mag--nificent combinations he would make in the City!"
I rose from my seat and stared solemnly at my misguided
brother-in-law.
"Charles," I said, "you are beside yourself. Too much Colonel Clay
has told upon your clear and splendid intellect. There are certain
remarks which, however true they may be, no self-respecting
financier should permit himself to make, even in the privacy of
his own room, to his most intimate friend and trusted adviser."
Charles fairly broke down. "You are right, Sey," he sobbed out.
"Quite right. Forgive this outburst. At moments of emotion the
truth will sometimes out, in spite of everything."
I respected his feebleness. I did not even make it a fitting
occasion to ask for a trifling increase of salary.
V
THE EPISODE OF THE DRAWN GAME
The twelfth of August saw us, as usual, at Seldon Castle,
Ross-shire. It is part of Charles's restless, roving temperament
that, on the morning of the eleventh, wet or fine, he must set out
from London, whether the House is sitting or not, in defiance of
the most urgent three-line whips; and at dawn on the twelfth he must
be at work on his moors, shooting down the young birds with might
and main, at the earliest possible legal moment.
He goes on like Saul, slaying his thousands, or, like David, his
tens of thousands, with all the guns in the house to help him, till
the keepers warn him he has killed as many grouse as they consider
desirable; and then, having done his duty, as he thinks, in this
respect, he retires precipitately with flying colours to Brighton,
Nice, Monte Carlo, or elsewhere. He must be always "on the trek";
when he is buried, I believe he will not be able to rest quiet in
his grave: his ghost will walk the world to terrify old ladies.
"At Seldon, at least," he said to me, with a sigh, as he stepped
into his Pullman, "I shall be safe from that impostor!"
And indeed, as soon as he had begun to tire a little of counting
up his hundreds of brace per diem, he found a trifling piece of
financial work cut ready to his hand, which amply distracted his
mind for the moment from Colonel Clay, his accomplices, and his
villainies.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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