"No, sir. It's home."
"Ha!" he said, as though I'd said something profound. "I guess it is, at that. Say, why don't you come by the store some time? I just got some samples from a new candy company in Oregon, and I need to get an unbiased opinion before I order." He gave me a pinched smile, like he thought he was Santa Claus.
"Mama doesn't like me eating sweets," I said, and stared at my reflection in my shoes.
Mama rescued me by coming into the parlour then, looking young and pretty in her best dress. "Dinner is served, gentlemen."
We followed her into the dining room, and Mr Johnstone took my Pa's seat at the head of the table and carved the goose. Even though the bird was brown and juicy, I found I didn't have any appetite.
"I have word from Pondicherry," Mr Johnstone said, as he poured gravy over his second helping of mashed potatoes.
"Yes?" Mama said.
"Who's he?" I asked.
"Your father's successor," Mr Johnstone said. "A British officer from New Delhi.
A fat little man, and awfully full of himself."
I repressed a snort. For my money Mr Johnstone was as full of himself as one man could be. I couldn't imagine a blacker kettle.