He was in rags--he'd come down on a freight--he hadn't a scrap of luggage, or a copper to his name.

That was Morris when he came to me in Cape Town!" Wrayson was listening attentively; he almost feared to let his visitor see how interested he was.
"He was fair done in!" the young man continued.

"He never had the pluck of a chicken, and the night he found me in Cape Town he cried like a baby.

He had lost everything, he said.

It was no use staying in the country any longer.