The Philanderers | Page 4

I intend nothing in the way of apology. Is that understood?'
The pressman agreed, and made a note of the proviso.

'There is another point. I have seen nothing of the paper necessarily for
the last few weeks. The Meteor has, I suppose, continued its--crusade,
shall we call it?--but on what lines exactly I am, of course, ignorant. It
will be better, consequently, that you should put questions and I answer
them, upon this condition, however,--that all reference is omitted to any
point on which I am unwilling to speak.'
The reporter demurred, but, seeing that Drake was obdurate, he was
compelled to give way.
'The entire responsibility of the expedition rests with me,' Drake
explained, 'but there were others concerned in it. You might trench
upon private matters which only affect them.'
He watched the questions with the vigilance of a counsel on behalf of a
client undergoing cross-examination, but they were directed solely to
the elucidation of the disputed point whether Drake had or had not,
while a captain in the service of the Matanga Republic, attacked a
settlement of Arab slave-dealers within the zone of a British
Protectorate. The editor of the Meteor believed that he had, and
strenuously believed it--in the interests of his shareholders. Drake, on
the other hand, and the Colonial Office, it should be added, were
dispassionately indifferent to the question, for the very precise reason
that they knew it could never be decided. There were doubts as to the
exact sphere of British influence, and the doubts favoured Drake for the
most part. Insular prehensiveness, at its highest flight, could do no
more than claim Boruwimi as its uttermost limit, and was aware it
would be hard put to it to substantiate the claim. The editor,
nevertheless, persevered, bombarded its citizen readers with warnings
about trade fleeing from lethargic empires, published a cartoon, and
reluctantly took the blackest view of Drake's character and aims.
Drake's march with a handful of men six hundred miles through a
tangled forest had been a handsome exploit, quickening British pride
with the spectacle of an Englishman at the head of it. Civilian blood
tingled in office and shop, claiming affinity with Drake's. It needed an
Englishman to bill-hook a path through that fretwork of branches, and
fall upon his enemy six weeks before he was expected--the true

combination of daring and endurance that stamps the race current coin
across the world! Economy also pleaded for Drake. But for him the
country itself must have burned out the hornets' nest, and the tax-payer
paid, and paid dearly. For there would have been talk of the expedition
beforehand, the force would have found an enemy prepared and
fortified. The hornets could sting too! Whereas Drake had burned them
out before they had time to buzz. He need not have said one word in
exculpation of himself, and that indeed he knew. But he had interests
and ambitions of his own to serve; a hint of them peeped out.
'As to your future plans?' asked the reporter. 'You mean to go back, I
presume.'
'No; London for me, if I can find a corner in it. I hold concessions in
Matanga.'
'The land needs development, of course.'
'Machinery too; capital most of all.'
At the bookstall upon the platform Drake bought a copy of the Times,
and whilst taking his change he was attracted by a grayish-green
volume prominently displayed upon the white newspapers. The
sobriety of the binding caught his fancy. He picked it up, and read the
gold-lettered title on the back--A Man of Influence. The stall-keeper
recommended the novel; he had read it himself; besides, it was having
a sale. Drake turned to the title-page and glanced at the author's
name--Sidney Mallinson. He flashed into enthusiasm.
'Selling, eh?'
'Very well indeed.'
'Has it been published long?'
'Less than three months.'
'I will take it, and everything else by the same author.'

'It is his first book.'
The stall-keeper glanced at his enthusiastic customer, and saw a
sunburnt face, eager as a boy's.
'Oh!' he said doubtfully, 'I don't know whether you will like it. It's
violently modern. Perhaps this,' and he suggested with an outstretched
forefinger a crimson volume explained by its ornamentation of a couple
of assegais bound together with a necklace of teeth. Drake laughed at
the application of the homoeopathic principle to the sale of books.
'No, I will take this,' he said, and, moving aside from the stall, stood for
a little turning the book over and over in his hands, feeling its weight
and looking incessantly at the title-page, wondering, you would say,
that the author had accomplished so much.
He had grounds for wonder, too. His thoughts went back across the last
ten years, and he remembered Mallinson's clamouring for a reputation;
a