"I don't think--I know, and so will you before the night is over. Take his advice and mine. Be discreet, for silence is golden. Just you wait a bit." "Thank God!" answered Clarence, softly, a sudden moisture coming into his rich brown eyes. CHAPTER NINE. JOHANNESBURG BY NIGHT. Mr Philip Martin was an intelligent and entertaining speaker, with enough of the boy still about him to make him understand and interest our heroes. His age was thirty-two, and he had both travelled and read a great deal. A South African by birth and descent of three generations, all his sympathies and hopes lay in his native land. England, or rather Scotland, had been the original home of his ancestors, and their traditions of liberty and independence were not forgotten. But it was Africa, not Scotland, which held all that was most sacred to him. He had come to Johannesburg to superintend one of the mines, the same one from which Mr Raybold drew most of his immense income. Philip Martin was therefore a man with no personal vested interests in the Transvaal beyond his salary. He could therefore leave whenever he liked this inhospitable soil to Uitlanders. He could also plot and conspire, without the same risks that Mr Raybold ran. This perhaps rendered him more daring and independent than his host. During dinner, when not talking about the market, they conversed on indifferent subjects. Mr Martin seemed chiefly interested in hearing all about the life the lads had led at school. Ned had a notion that this bright, strong, swarthy man, with his air of interest, was drawing them out for some purpose of his own, and was reading them all the time he asked questions and listened to their replies. But he did not mind being studied, as his record and those of his companions were clean ones. Besides, he found it a pleasure to give his confidence to this man, for already he liked him very greatly, and felt that he would not be misjudged. So the three lads rattled on, recalling incidents of victories won in the class and in the field, while Mr Martin listened with his keen, bright eyes glowing upon them alternately, as if in his heart he was moving again with them through those merry past times. Mr Raybold also sat looking at them and listening with the indulgent smile of a genial host, who is pleased to find his guests enjoying themselves. It was a good dinner, and the lads did full justice to it, in spite of their chatter, for they had brought with them good travellers' appetites. The solids disappeared rapidly as they were placed before them, without in the least spoiling their zest for the dessert. The wines, however, they did not touch, which Mr Martin also abstained from. Mr Raybold was the only one who indulged in anything stronger than water. "What do you drink?" asked Mr Martin, during a pause. "Water," answered our heroes.