"You have more than repaid me, my dear boy; not another word, please, about that. Warde tells me they expect great things of you at Oxford."
Uncle and nephew were alone, after dinner. John had noticed that the hardships endured in Manchuria and Thibet had left scars upon the traveller. His hair was white, he looked an old man; one whose wanderings in wild places must perforce come soon to an end.
"Uncle," said John, "I want to chuck Oxford."
"Eh?"
"I should like to go into the Army."
"Bless my soul!"
The explorer eyed his nephew with wrinkled brow. John gave reasons; we can guess what they were. The prospect of war had set all ardent souls afire.
"I must think this over, my boy," the uncle replied presently. "I must sleep on it. Have you told your mother?"
"No; I counted upon you to persuade her."
"Um. Now tell me about Lord's! Ah! I'm sorry I missed that match."