"Five men killed. Our native friend is, of course,
in a fever. Has pensioned all the families. I don't know where he will
land us with his extravagances. We shall want all the money we can get
for repairing the damage. Philanthropy is becoming a sort of disease
with him. Fortunately, I am not bitten so far." He laughed, and threw
the letter to one side. "I expect I shall have to run up north to put
things straight."
"Hasn't the mine brought in enough?" Lois answered innocently.
"Enough?" He looked at her with a twinkle in his bright eyes. "Dear
girl, it hasn't paid so much as a quarter of its expenses."
"But will it ever?"
"Heaven knows--or perhaps even Heaven does not. I'm sure I don't."
"You talk so calmly about it!" she exclaimed, aghast. "Surely you are
heavily involved--and not only you, but the Rajah and the people in
Marut?"
He patted her on the cheek.
"Don't worry on that score," he assured her. "Besides, it's not my way
to sit down and cry over what can't be helped. I dare say I shall pull
through somehow."
"Yes, _you_, perhaps."
He changed color slightly under the challenge in her eyes, but his
expression remained unruffled.
"You are not exactly a very trusting wife, are you, Lois? It comes of
letting a woman have a look into business. Never mind, we won't argue
the subject all over again. I know what you think of me. There,
good-by. I must be off again. Nicholson will be around shortly.
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