“I suppose I can get his address in Bombay—his real address, I mean?”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“And then I shall look him up—at once.”
“If he will be looked up. The Jervises are an eccentric family. I heard some queer stories of them not long ago.”
“But my father never struck you as eccentric, did he?”
“No. And, of course, you must try and see him; but don’t let him lay hands on you and keep you, my boy. He was a handsome, persuasive sort of fellow, and had wonderful personal charm—when he chose to exert it. India has cast a spell upon him, and kept him with her for the best part of his life. Don’t let India do the same by you.”
“No fear of that,” with emphasis.
“Well, I’m sorry now you are going out there, for several reasons. I would have preferred China or Australia, but Waring has his say and his way.”
“And I had my say and my way too, Uncle Dan. India is my native land; I remember it distinctly—the servants with their dark faces and big white turbans, my little chestnut pony, which was called the ‘Lal Tatoo,’ and I want to see my father. You know we have not met for fifteen years.”
“I know,” assented Mr. Pollitt, gloomily, and added, after a pause, “I wonder now, if it would be possible for you to throw me over—and stop out there with him!”