"Well, you see he was partner with a German: went equal shares with him in a coffee plantation seven or eight years ago." "H’m! Why didn’t he stick to mines?" said the old gentleman in one of his audible asides. "And you step into his shoes, I suppose?" "Not exactly, sir. He left his property to my brother and me jointly. We decided that Bob--he’s twenty-four--had better stick to the commission business in London, and I should come out and learn planting, or at any rate see if it’s worth while going on; the plantation has never paid, and it’s lucky for us we don’t depend on it." "Never paid in eight years? It’s time it did. What’s your German partner about? I’m an old hand; my name’s Barkworth, and I was a friend of your father. My advice is, if your coffee hasn’t paid in eight years, cut your losses and try cotton." "It may come to that; that’s what I’m out to discover; but my brother thought it at least worth while looking into things on the spot with Mr. Reinecke----" "Curt Reinecke?" said Mr. Barkworth abruptly. "Yes." "I know him--or did, twenty years ago. _He’s_ your partner. H’m!" He blew out a heavy cloud of smoke. Tom looked at him a little anxiously. "Mr. Reinecke has had a lot of bad luck, sir," he said. "He was always hoping the tide would turn, Bob suggested that he might be incompetent, but my father had complete confidence in him." "Reinecke incompetent! Bosh! He’s clever enough." There was something in Mr. Barkworth’s tone that caused Tom to say-- "I’ve never met him myself, and I should really be glad of any information, sir. You see, it’s rather awkward, dealing with a man old enough to be my father, I mean, and----" "Yes, of course. Reinecke is a clever fellow; I’ve nothing against him, but I recommend you to go carefully. I don’t like him, but then I don’t like Germans." "I can’t say I do," said Tom. "I spent a year in Germany. But I’ve met a few jolly decent chaps, and seeing that my father thought so highly of Mr. Reinecke----" "You’re predisposed in his favour. Naturally. Well, keep an open mind. Don’t be in a hurry to decide. That’s an old man’s advice. I’m nearly seventy, my lad, and the older I get the more I learn. With people, now--there’s the man who falls on the neck of the first comer, and wishes he hadn’t. There’s the man who stiffens his back and freezes, and then finds that he’s lost his chance of making a friend. Don’t be like either: ’prove all things’--and men--’and hold fast to that which is good.’ H’m! I’m beginning to preach: sure sign of dotage.--You haven’t seen a view like that before."