"Well, I should like to know who's
going to make your road," he said spitefully.
"I'll make it myself," Trent roared. "Don't you think a little
thing like some stupid laws of science will stand in my way, or the
way of a man who knows his own mind. I tell you I'll level that
road from the tree there which we marked as the starting-point to
the very centre of Bekwando."
He slammed the door and re-entered the room. The boy was there,
sitting upon the office stool hard at work with a pair of compasses.
"What the devil are you doing there?" Trent asked. "Out you go
with your master!"
The boy looked up. He had a fair, smooth face, but lips like
Trent's own.
"I'm just thinking about that first bend by Kurru corner, sir," he
said, "I'm not sure about the level."
Trent's face relaxed. He held out his hand.
"My boy," he said, "I'll make your fortune as sure as my name is
Scarlett Trent!"
"We'll make that road anyway," the boy answered, with a smile.
* * * * *
After a rest Trent climbed the hill to the Basle Mission House.
There was no sign of Monty on the potato patch, and the woman who
opened the door started when she saw him.
"How is he?" Trent asked quickly.
The woman looked at him in wonder.
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