Mr. Cardozo, who was certainly the soul of good humour, burst into another roar of laughter; and Fuzzil, who was listening at the door, reported that “the Kala Sahib and the other were talking like brothers.”
“Well, well; enjoy life while you may—that’s my motto.” And he drank off a bumper of Madeira and smacked his lips audibly. “You need not be shocked; I shall take the best care of Maria as long as she lives, and when she dies I shall marry again—probably a young girl.”
Mark offered no comment, none being required.
“Yes, I enjoy life. And you; what will you do here? Wait”—with a dramatic gesture—“I will answer my own question. Either this”—holding a glass to his lips—“or this”—drawing his hand significantly across his throat.
“Satan finds some mischief still
For idle hands to do.”
“My hands will be full,” rejoined the other resolutely. “I intend to work great reforms. I shall manage the domestic budget; I shall get rid of Fuzzil and his clan.”
“Ho, ho, ho! you will just as easily get rid of the sun, moon, and stars. He is a fixture; he has been here for years. His brother is khitmatgar; his father is cook; his uncle is dhobie. Oh, Fuzzil has struck in his roots; he knows when he is well off.”
“And I know when we are not well off. He is a gambling, drunken, insolent ruffian. Rooted, you say! I shall turn him out, root and branch.”
“You will be very strong if you do that,” rejoined Fernandez, looking between his eyelashes at the spare, stern-faced young man across the table, who continued—