A Millionaire of Yesterday
concession; he knew probably more about it than Trent himself. But five thousand pounds was a great deal of money and there was always the chance that the Government might not back the concession holders in case of trouble. He hesitated so long that Trent was actually disappearing before he had made up his mind.     

       “Come back, Mr. Trent,” he called out. “I have decided. I accept. I join with you.”      

       Trent slowly returned. His manner showed no exultation.     

       “You have the money here?” he asked.     

       Da Souza laid down a heap of notes and gold upon the table. Trent counted them carefully and thrust them into his pocket. Then he took up a pen and wrote his name at the foot of the assignment which the Jew had prepared.     

       “Have a drink?” he asked.     

       Da Souza shook his head.     

       “The less we drink in this country,” he said, “the better. I guess out here, spirits come next to poison. I'll smoke with you, if you have a cigar handy.”      

       Trent drew a handful of cigars from his pocket. “They're beastly,” he said, “but it's a beastly country. I'll be glad to turn my back on it.”      

       “There is a good deal,” Da Souza said, “which we must now talk about.”      

       “To-morrow,” Trent said curtly. “No more now! I haven't got over my miserable journey yet. I'm going to try and get some sleep.”      

       He swung out into the heavy darkness. The air was thick with unwholesome odours rising from the lake-like swamp beyond the drooping circle of       trees. He walked a little way towards the sea, and sat down upon a log. A faint land-breeze was blowing, a melancholy soughing came from the edge of the forest only a few hundred yards back, sullen, black, impenetrable. He turned his face inland unwillingly, with a superstitious little thrill of fear. Was it a coyote calling, or had he indeed heard the moan of a dying man, somewhere back amongst that dark, gloomy jungle? He scoffed at himself! Was he becoming as a girl, weak and timid? Yet a moment later he closed his eyes, and pressed his hands tightly over his hot eyeballs. He was a man of little imaginative force, yet the white face of a 
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