“And remember our bargain. Though I have not taken return tickets, after all. Don’t stay longer than the year. I don’t know how I’m to get on without you. I can never use the mail-phaeton now, for I hate sitting beside the coachman—and—you know, I tried to drive once—and the result. There will be no one to take me on the river on a hot afternoon—other people but you think an old fogey has no business there. Oh, I shall miss you! I’ve lodged money for you in Bombay with Bostock & Bell’s” (naming a magnificent sum), “and when it’s done, you must come home, for I won’t send you another stiver. It’s in your name, of course—you will be paymaster.”
“All right, uncle.”
“Keep your cheque-book locked up. Don’t let a tiger get hold of you, or one of those scheming, husband-hunting women that Clarence talks about.”
“You may make your mind quite easy on that score,” with a rather derisive smile.
“Well, time is up, my dear boy. I am sorry you are going; take care of yourself. God bless you!” wringing his hand as he spoke.
Meanwhile Mrs. Pollitt and her brother had also been having a few parting words.
“Now, Clar,” she said impressively, “I have done a good thing for you. This is a splendid chance. Be sure you make the most of it; if you please the ‘uncle,’ as you call him, he will help you to something better by-and-by.”
Clarence nodded sagaciously. He was in the highest spirits.
“You are not really limited to time, you know,” she continued, in a whisper.
“I know,” and there was a significant look in his right eye, almost approaching to a wink.