"Well, he isn't English, you know," was Jim's reply.
"His father was a Saxon, and, from all accounts, a public school boy, a University man, gently born and well-bred. Why isn't his son--if this man be his son--more like him?"
"The poor chap hasn't had his father's advantages, Mallow. His mother was a half-caste, and, I suppose, no pattern of breeding. He has been brought up in exile amongst niggers, and has received a scratch education. I don't see what you can expect. Carson's pretty good, considering his disadvantages."
"Confound you, Jim; don't desert to the enemy!" cried Mallow, in a huff.
"I'm not deserting, but I see both sides of the question, and you don't. You believe that the real Carson is dead, and that this man is an impostor."
"And if I do," said Mallow, defiantly, "it was you who put the idea into my head."
Aldean laughed.
"You don't usually take my suggestions so seriously," he said, smiling. "Besides, I had no proof for my assertion, and you--however much you wish to--can't find one. On the other hand, there is ample evidence to show that Carson is the man he declares himself to be. Mrs. Purcell's letter describes him exactly: he has a weak heart and an injured hand; also, he wears the golden bangle, which, as he showed Mrs. Carson in Bombay, cannot be removed. Finally, Carson has been in Semberry's company ever since he left his father's death-bed."
"Semberry is a plausible scamp," growled Mallow, biting his fingers. "I heard no good of him in India."
"Perhaps not; but a man can be a scamp without being a blackguard."