"It would be horrible," said Walter Marrable.
"I should think it would. India may be very well when a man is quite young, and if he can keep himself from beer and wine; but to go back there at your time of life with a wife, and to look forward to a dozen children there, must be an unpleasant prospect, I should say."
Walter Marrable sat silent and black.
"I should give up all idea of India," continued his uncle.
"What the deuce is a man to do?" asked the Captain.
The parson shrugged his shoulders.
"I'll tell you what I've been thinking of," said the Captain. "If I could get a farm of four or five hundred acres—"
"A farm!" exclaimed the parson.
"Why not a farm? I know that a man can do nothing with a farm unless he has capital. He should have £10 or £12 an acre for his land, I suppose. I should have that and some trifle of an income besides if I sold out. I suppose my uncle would let me have a farm under him?"
"He'd see you—further first."