“Thought I had gone home—sold out and was stone broke. But here I am, you see, on my legs again.”
“Delighted to hear it,” with a swift glance at Waring’s well-to-do air and expensive-looking clothes. “Sit down, my dear boy,” he cried cordially, “sit down and have a cheroot, and tell me all about yourself and what has brought you back again to the land of regrets? Is it tea, coffee, or gold?”
“Gold, in one sense. I am companion to a young millionaire, or rather to the nephew of a man who has so much money—and no children—that he does not know what to do.”
“And who is the young man? Does he know what to do?”
“His name is Jervis—his rich uncle is married to my sister; we are connections, you see, and when he expressed a desire to explore the gorgeous East, my sister naturally suggested me for the post of guide, philosopher, and friend.”
Here Major Byng gave a short sharp laugh, like a bark.
“We landed in Bombay ten days ago, and are going to tour about and see the world.”
“What is the programme?”
“My programme is as follows: Poonah races, Secunderabad races, Madras races, a big game shoot in Travancore, expense no object, elephants, beaters, club-cook, coolies with letters, and ice for the champagne. Then I shall run him about in the train a bit, and show him Delhi, Agra, Jeypore; after that we will put in the end of the cold weather in Calcutta. I have lots of pals there, and from Calcutta we will go to the hills, to Shirani. I shall be glad to see the old club again—many a fleeting hour have I spent there!”
“That same club had a shocking bad name for gambling and bear fighting,” said Major Byng significantly.