minutes ago, a belated patient had been attended to and dismissed, the surgery had been closed by the simple process of drawing down the blind and locking the outer door, and now the two friends were sitting opposite each other in that same drug-scented apartment, conversing earnestly together, as Humphreys pulled contemplatively, yet somewhat vexedly, at a brier pipe which had seen so much service that it was now charred down to about half its original size.

“The fact is,” remarked Dick, in continuance of their conversation, “that there is no other course open to me; for I am resolved that I will not touch a farthing of the money that your friend Graham has so cleverly rescued from the ruins of Cuthbertson’s estate; every stiver of it will be required for the maintenance of the poor Mater while I am away. And I must go away, because, as you yourself have admitted, there is no employment or occupation of any kind here at home to which, in my present condition of unpreparedness, I could turn my hand with any hope of earning a sufficient income to maintain her and myself, though ever so modestly; even if posts were to be had for the asking, which—in this country, at all events—they are not. You know that to be the plain, unvarnished truth, do you not?”

“Yes,” Humphreys answered unhesitatingly, “it is true—unfortunately.”

“Very well, then,” Dick resumed; “that being the case, the next question is: Where am I to go, and what am I to do, in order to earn enough money to maintain myself and my mother in the meantime, and eventually to restore her to that position of security of which she was robbed by that rascal Cuthbertson?”

“De mortuis nil nisi bonum!” reproved Humphreys gravely. “The poor chap has gone to answer for his sins, whatever they may have been, and there is an end of him, so far as you are concerned. To rail at him now, and speak of him disparagingly, will not hurt him, or do you any good, Dick, my friend, so do not unnecessarily bespatter his memory. This by the way. And now to return to our muttons. The problem that you propound is indeed a hard one to solve; to many it would probably appear an impossibility. But, although I am by no means an old man, I have been long enough in this world to have recognised that what many people deem impossibilities are nothing of the sort, if only one has the grit to face and tackle them. It is grit, my boy, that makes impossibilities possible, and I believe you possess that quality in sufficient measure to enable you to accomplish great things. The question is: What is the particular great thing which will meet your case? What is the work which you are best fitted to do? You are already very well up in the profession which you have chosen. There is many a man in successful practice to-day who knows less about it than you do; but, unfortunately, you are not yet ‘qualified’, therefore you cannot set up for yourself, even if you could afford the time to create a practice—which you cannot. And as to becoming an unqualified assistant, that of course is out of the question; the pay is altogether too poor to justify the entertainment of that idea. But there are countries where the restrictions are not nearly so great as they are in England; and there are others—beyond the pale of civilisation—where no restrictions at all exist, and where a clever man, with plenty of grit to back him up, might perhaps do remarkably well. Still, to penetrate to such countries a man must take his life in his hands, and, even then, all his courage may prove insufficient to save him from an unspeakable, horrible death. Now, what can you do besides doctoring?”

“Nothing that will help me in my present strait,” answered Maitland. “I can sail a boat, swim, ride, or drive a horse, and I can shoot straight; consequently if I possessed sufficient influence I might be able to get a job as groom, stableman, or even under-gamekeeper. But none of those things is good enough for me; I am capable of better things than grooming horses, cleaning harness, or looking after pheasants; I want employment that will bring me in good money, and I mean to have it too.”

“That’s right, Dick; that’s the way to talk,” returned Humphreys approvingly. “Modesty is all right, a very desirable and admirable quality in every young man’s character, and one which is seen far too seldom nowadays. Modesty, however, is one thing, and self-depreciation quite another. It is a mistake for anyone to underrate his own value, and, as you very truly say, you are capable of doing much better work than that needed in either of the occupations that you have named; therefore you are justified in insisting upon having it. A man has a perfect right to the very best and most profitable work he is capable of doing; but he must get it for himself; it is no use for him to sit down supinely and demand that Providence shall put it into his hands. The man who is worth his salt will get up and ‘hustle’—as the Americans tersely express it—and not rest until he has secured what he wants. Now, you, my boy, are very heavily handicapped. You have neither money nor influence to help you to what you want, therefore you will have to depend upon ‘hustle’ and grit alone; also you have no time to waste in looking about in this country for the kind of thing you want, which, even with all the ‘hustle’ and grit imaginable, may take you months, or even years, to find. No, as you said at the beginning of this conversation, you must go somewhere abroad to get what you want; and in a foreign land you may find even such despised accomplishments as riding, swimming, and straight shooting of the utmost value to you. But in my opinion your mainstay must be the medical and surgical knowledge which you have acquired. Now, whereabout on the face of this old globe of ours are you likely to be able to employ your knowledge to the best and most profitable account? It should be where wealth is abundant, and where medical and surgical skill is pretty frequently in demand, also where there is plenty of scope for a young fellow who, like yourself, is imbued with the spirit of adventure. Now, let me consider for a moment—where is the country which most nearly answers to these conditions? What do you say to South Africa? It is the land of gold and diamonds; it is not, I believe, overrun with medical men; and as to adventure—” Humphreys shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands abroad expressively.

Dick’s eyes sparkled and his face lit up with enthusiasm.

“South Africa is the place for me, without a doubt,” he exclaimed with animation. “It is, as you say, rich; it is also a land of unbounded possibilities; and— But how am I to get there? The passage money amounts to something considerable, and I have no money to spare for that sort of thing; also, as I have said, I will not take a penny from the Mater.”

“What about borrowing?” suggested Humphreys. “As you know, Dick, I am not a rich man, but I have no doubt I could manage to—”

“No!” interrupted Dick emphatically; “a thousand times no. It is like you, Doctor, to offer to help me out of your own exceedingly limited means, and I am more grateful to you than I have words to express; but I simply will not avail myself of your kindness, or that of anybody else indeed, for I should be starting with a millstone of debt hanging round my neck. No, I have thought of a better way than that; I will work my passage out.”

“Work your passage out!” ejaculated the Doctor, staggered, in spite of his whole-hearted belief in the virtues of self-help, at this bold suggestion on Dick’s part. “In what capacity, pray?”

“Oh, as anything!” returned Dick buoyantly; “as ordinary seaman, cook’s mate, stoker—what does it matter? I will find a way, never fear. I’ll take a trot round the docks to-morrow, and it will be strange indeed if I cannot somewhere find a market for my labour. Why, even the elementary knowledge of nautical matters that I have acquired in