Miss Belfield said she was curious to see this singular compound of bon vivant and politician, a feeling in which I expressed my hearty participation.
“You must be on your guard how you comport yourself before him, Gernon,” said the captain, “for I assure you he shows no mercy to griffins, cutting them up right and left, when once he commences, with most unmercifully rough raillery.”
“He had better leave me alone,” said I, with rather a formidable shake of the head; “I’m not under his command, you know, sir, and may give him a Rowland for his Oliver.”
“You’d better not attempt it, my dear fellow,” replied the captain; “he has demolished many a stouter griffin than you are.”
The next morning we reached the station of Burhampore, and a little before we brought to, I observed, approaching the banks, a very stout, burly officer, followed by an orderly sepoy, whilst a bearer held a chattah, or umbrella, over his head. It was impossible to be mistaken—this must be Colonel Bluff.
“Kisha budjra hyr?” (whose boat is that?)
“Bilfil Sahib ka” (Captain Belfield’s), replied a servant.
“Ship ahoy! Belfield, get up, you lazy dog,” shouted the “stout gentleman,” with the voice of a Stentor.
The captain ran out in his dressing-gown, and my suspicions were at once confirmed; it was, indeed, the colonel; and a lively greeting now passed between them.
“Well, then, so you’ve deserted Java—cut the Dutchmen, eh?—and come back to the Qui-Hye’s?—they seem to have used you well, though; you aint half such a lantern-jaw’d, herring-gutted looking fellow as you used to be—haw! haw! You were, I recollect, when you joined us first, ‘as thin as a ha’porth o’ soap after a hard day’s washing.’ as my father’s old north country gardener used to say—haw! haw!”