“I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't want to be an old one. Will you do me a favor, doctor? and will you forgive me if I don't know how to ask it with all becoming delicacy? I'd like to give Tom a helping hand. He's a good fellow,—I 'm certain he is. Will you let me send him out to India, to my father? He has lots of places to give away, and he 'd be sure to find something to suit him. You have heard of General Conyers, perhaps, the political resident at Delhi? That's my governor.” In the hurry and rapidity with which he spoke, it was easy to see how he struggled with a sense of shame and confusion.
Dr. Dill was profuse of acknowledgments; he was even moved as he expressed his gratitude. “It was true,” he remarked, “that his life had been signalled by these sort of graceful services, or rather offers of services; for we are proud if we are poor, sir. 'Dill aut nil' is the legend of our crest, which means that we are ourselves or nothing.”
“I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament,” broke in Conyers, bluntly.
“Not exactly, young gentleman,—not exactly. I think I could, perhaps, explain—”
“No, no; never mind it. I 'm the stupidest fellow in the world at a nice distinction; besides, I'll take your word for the fact. You have heard of my father, have n't you?”
“I heard of him so late as last night, from a brother officer of yours, Captain Stapylton.”
“Where did you meet Stapylton?” asked Conyers, quickly.
“At Sir Charles Cobham's. I was presented to him by my daughter, and he made the most kindly inquiries after you, and said that, if possible, he'd come over here to-day to see you.”
“I hope he won't; that's all,” muttered Conyers. Then, correcting himself suddenly, he said: “I mean, I scarcely know him; he has only joined us a few months back, and is a stranger to every one in the regiment. I hope you did n't tell him where I was.”
“I'm afraid that I did, for I remember his adding, 'Oh! I must carry him off. I must get him back to headquarters.'”