It was
the last word uttered during that morning's conversation. Immediately
afterwards Ricardo went out of the room. It was impossible for him to
keep still. An elation in which an extraordinary softness mingled with
savage triumph would not allow it. It prevented his thinking, also.
He walked up and down the veranda far into the afternoon, eyeing the
bungalow at every turn. It gave no sign of being inhabited. Once or
twice he stopped dead short and looked down at his left slipper. Each
time he chuckled audibly. His restlessness kept on increasing till at
last it frightened him. He caught hold of the balustrade of the veranda
and stood still, smiling not at his thought but at the strong sense of
life within him. He abandoned himself to it carelessly, even recklessly.
He cared for no one, friend or enemy. At that moment Mr. Jones called
him by name from within. A shadow fell on the secretary's face.
"Here, sir," he answered; but it was a moment before he could make up
his mind to go in.
He found the governor on his feet. Mr. Jones was tired of lying down
when there was no necessity for it. His slender form, gliding about the
room, came to a standstill.
"I've been thinking, Martin, of something you suggested. At the time it
did not strike me as practical; but on reflection it seems to me that
to propose a game is as good a way as any to let him understand that the
time has come to disgorge.
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