“Only a pipe,” said Godfrey.
“That’s right; I hate those accursed cigarettes, still they are better than nothing. Now sit down and tell me all about yourself.”
Godfrey obeyed, and somehow feeling at ease with this choleric old General, in the course of the next twenty minutes explained many things to him, including the cause of his appearance in that office.
“So you don’t want to be a parson,” said the General, “and with your father’s example before your eyes, I am sure I don’t wonder. However, you are independent of him more or less, and had better cut out a line for yourself. We will back you. What do you say to the army?”
“I think I should rather like that,” answered Godfrey. “Only, only, I want to get out of England as soon as possible.”
“And quite right, too—accursed hole, full of fog and politicians. But that’s not difficult with India waiting for you. I’m an Indian cavalry officer myself, and could put you up to the ropes and give you a hand afterwards, perhaps, if you show yourself of the right stuff, as I think you will. But, of course, you will have to go to Sandhurst, pass an entrance examination, and so forth. Can you manage that?”
“Yes, Sir, I think so, with a little preparation. I know a good deal of one sort or another, including French.”
“All right, three months’ cramming at Scoones’ or Wren’s, will do the trick. And now I suppose you want some money?”
Godfrey explained that he did, having only £10 which he had borrowed from his old nurse.
Just then the oily-headed clerk announced that Mr. Ranson was at liberty. So they both went in to see him, and the rest may be imagined. The trustees undertook to pay his expenses, even if they had to stretch a point to do so, and gave him £20 to go on with, also a letter of introduction to Scoones, whom he was instructed to see and arrange to join their classes. Then General Cubitte hustled off, telling him to come to dine at an address in Kensington two nights later and “report himself.”