“And you will be manager—and paymaster.”
“Guide, councillor, and friend, you bet.”
“And now, dear boy, do be prudent; don’t get into any more entanglements with grass widows; don’t get into any more betting or gambling scrapes—promise me.”
“I shall be as steady as old Time or young Mark himself, and I can’t say more. Well, good-bye—and thanks awfully, Lina. I must say you do stick to your own people”—adding, with a hasty kiss—“I see we are off.”
As the carriage moved slowly past the Pollitts, who were standing side by side, Clarence flung himself back with a boisterous laugh, as he exclaimed—
“I declare, the uncle seems quite cut up—ha, ha, ha! Upon my soul, I believe the old chap is crying!”
CHAPTER X.
MAJOR BYNG’S SUGGESTION.
Major Byng, a wiry, dried-up little officer, with remarkably thin legs and sporting proclivities, was reclining in a long chair, in the verandah of the Napier Hotel, Poonah, smoking his after-breakfast “Trichy,” and running his eye over the “Asian” pocket-book.
“Hullo, Byng, old man!” cried a loud cheerful voice, and looking up, his amaze was depicted in the countenance he turned upon Clarence Waring.
“Waring! Why—I thought,” putting down his book and sitting erect.