“I believe it had, now you mention it; but you may be sure that it has reformed—like myself.”
“And this young fellow—what is he like?”
“Quiet, gentlemanly, easy-going, easily pleased, thinks every one a good sort,” and Waring laughed derisively; “abhors all fuss or show, never bets, never gets up in the morning with a head, no expensive tastes.”
“In fact, his tastes are miserably beneath his opportunities! What a pity it is that the millionaire is not your uncle!”
“Yes, instead of merely brother-in-law, and brothers-in-law are notoriously unfeeling. However, I have adopted mine as my own blood relation, for the present. I boss the show. Come and dine with me to-night, and tell me all the ‘gup,’ and give me the straight tip for the Arab purse.”
“All right. Is this young Jervis a sportsman?”
“He is a first-class man on a horse, and he plays polo, but he does not go in for racing—more’s the pity!”
“Plays polo, does he? By Jove!” and an eager light shone in the major’s little greenish eyes. “I’ve a couple of ponies for sale——”
“He does not want them now, whatever he may do later in Calcutta or in the hills. I shall be looking out for three or four for myself, good sound ones, mind you, Byng, up to weight. I’ve put on flesh, you see, but I dare say my anxious responsibilities will wear me down a bit. Jervis does not weigh more than ten stone, and, talk of the devil, here he comes.”
Major Byng turned his head quickly, as at this moment Waring’s travelling companion, a slight, active-looking young man, entered the compound, closely pursued by a swarm of hawkers, and their accompanying train of coolies, bearing on their heads the inevitable Poonah figures, hand-screens, pottery, beetle-work, silks, silver, and jewellery.