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to time from those who had come across his caravans in their marches through the jungle.

“One morning a runner came into my camp with a message from Goringe, telling me that he intended passing within a mile or so of where I was; that he was pressed for time or would do himself the honor of calling upon me, and that he would deem it a great favor if I would meet him at a certain crossing where he meant to rest during the heat of the day. I, of course, sent him word that I should be on hand. I hadn’t seen him for some years—few other white men, for that matter—and I wanted to learn for myself the secret of his marvellous success. When in London he had worn correct evening clothes, a decoration in his button-hole, and was a frequenter of the best and most exclusive clubs—rather a poor training, one would suppose, for the successful life he had of late been leading in the jungle—and it was successful so far as the profits of the home company were concerned. While their other agents would hire ten men—or twenty—in a long march of months, gathering up former carriers out of work, some of whom had served Stanley in his time, Goringe would get a hundred or more of fresh recruits, all able-bodied