“He has six months’ leave, Ben.”
“Good. Master Lionel will be back in India, by December.”
Sir Geoffrey did not misunderstand this.
“Pooh, pooh! He’s grown into a strong man.”
“From the bottom of my heart I hope so.”
Sir Geoffrey sipped his wine, glancing at Fishpingle out of the corner of his eye. He was growing ripe for confidences. He began blusterously:
“Damn you, Ben, you’ve given me a nasty taste in the mouth. Master Lionel will make old bones. I feel that in my bones. Enough of that. We must give him the welcome he deserves, but I could wish, for his sake, that we had more shots in the locker—what?”
Fishpingle inclined his head. The opportunity had come. But he waited for the Squire to plunge deeper into his difficulties.
“‘The little more, and—and——’”
Fishpingle completed the quotation.