Marston pondered. He wanted to help Wyndham and had sometimes felt his sportsman's life was rather objectless. For one thing, he might provide himself with an occupation and perhaps stop Harry's embarking on rash adventures. To invest his money would give him some control. "Could you make the business pay if you had a larger capital?" he asked. "There are pretty good grounds for imagining so," Wyndham replied. "Very well! I have more money than I need and have been looking for a chance to use my talents. So far I've kept them buried, and if I don't dig them up soon, they might rust away. If you agree, I'd like to make a start now and try a business speculation." He named a sum and added: "You promised you'd take my help when you saw how you could use the money." "You're generous, Bob," Wyndham remarked with a touch of feeling, and then smiled. "However, I know you pretty well and think I understand your plan. You want to keep me out of trouble and see I take the prudent line. But was the plan yours or Mabel's?" "Mine," said Marston, rather shortly. "All the same, I imagine Mabel would approve. But this has nothing to do with it and you needn't invent an object for me. I'm looking for a good investment. My lawyers only get me three or four per cent." "Then you make no stipulation?" "I do not," said Marston. "You will have control and command my help. If I couldn't trust you with my money, I would not have gone to Africa with you. I won't grumble if you lose the lot. The thing's a speculation." Wyndham knitted his brows for a few moments and then looked up. "You're a very good sort, Bob. I'll take the loan." "It's not a loan," said Marston firmly. "I'm buying a partnership." "A partner is responsible for all losses and liabilities. A lender is not; he only risks the sum he invests." "Of course," said Marston. "I understand that." A touch of color came into Wyndham's face, but he smiled. "Oh, well, I knew you had pluck!" Marston got up. "Now we have agreed, we'll get to work. Let's see if the telegraph office is open. To begin with, we'll buy the lot of ballata your agent at the other port talked about." Wyndham laughed and they set off up the hot street. CHAPTER VIII THE LAGOON After a few days, _Columbine_ sailed west, and one night lurched slowly across the languid swell towards the coast. There was a full moon, but Marston, standing near the negro pilot at the wheel, could not see much. Mist drifted about the forest ahead and he heard an ominous roar of surf. Although no break in the coast was distinguishable, the schooner was obviously drifting with the tide toward an opening. The wind was light and blew off the land, laden with a smell of spices and river mud. Marston did not like the smell: he had known it in Africa and when one felt the sour damp one took quinine. He had studied the chart, which did not tell him much, and since there were no marks to steer for he must trust the negro pilot.