"Oh, I've loafed about town a little, golfing a bit and slumming a
bit for a chap that got ill, and in spare moments looking after Martin
here."
"And the International?"
Dunn hesitated.
"Come on, old chap," said Martin, "take your medicine."
"Well," admitted Dunn, "I had to chuck it. But," he hastened to add,
"Nesbitt has got the thing in fine shape, though of course lacking the
two brilliant quarters of last year and the half--for Cameron's out of
it--it's rather rough on Nesbitt."
"Oh, I say! It's rotten, it's really ghastly! How could you do it,
Dunn?" said Linklater. "I could weep tears of blood."
To this Dunn made no reply. His disappointment was even yet too keen
for him to treat it lightly. "Anything else seemed quite impossible," at
length he said; "I had to chuck it."
"By the way," said Martin, "how's Cameron?"
Again Dunn paused. "I wish I could tell you. He's had hard luck this
summer. He somehow can't get hold of himself. In fact, I'm quite worried
about Cameron. I can't tell you chaps the whole story, but last spring
he had a really bad jolt."
"Well, what's he going to do?" Martin asked, somewhat impatiently.
"I wish I knew," replied Dunn gloomily. "There seems nothing he can
get here that's suitable. I'm afraid he will have to try the Colonies;
Canada for preference.
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