John, regarding him with unbated interest, reiterated,
"Aren't he a nice little nigger?"
It seemed a very long while to Ferlie before Cyprian came home.
* * * * * *
As luck would have it, he had undertaken to meet a business acquaintance at the Club, demi-officially, to discuss the contract for some new machinery. They concluded the conversation in the now nearly empty bar-room, since it had been prolonged late and club-members were drifting home.
One man lingered; a breezy loud-voiced individual from Cyprian's former district, to whom Life was one long smoking-room yarn. Forrester had shown himself rather perturbed when the news leaked out that Sterne, on departing for his Leave, had provided for his Burmese "keep." Creating these Quixotic precedents! All very well for a blooming bachelor of his amiably inexpensive habits, but how in hell was a man with a missus and kids in England to pension off every little bit of yellow fluff that drifted his way?
Therefore, he was delighted, on this particular evening to run across Sterne in the one place where he could refer to the matters pertaining to men in general.
"Hullo, Sterne!" he roared joyously. "Have one with me. You'll need it. Saw your latest lune-de-mielle toiling up the long, long trail just now in search of your bungalow. She wasn't alone, neither. It's a good-looking kid, I must say. But isn't Mrs. Clifford going to sit up and take notice? You shouldn't have such characteristic eyes, man."
"Did you say you'd have a drink?" asked Cyprian jerkily.
"No, no, it's my shout. And it's no use your trying to change the conversation. Homer has nodded and we all know about it. Where you slipped up was in letting your past know your present address."