“Was you present at the Council, sir?” asked Captain Colquhoun.
“No, indeed, Captain. I had some notion of strolling in, but outside the door I heard the angry voices, and the peon told me what was going on, so I stayed away, knowing that poor Holwell and I could do nothing against Manningham and Frankland and the President. They won the day, of course, and as I came back to tiffing I saw a chubdar conducting the fellow, whoever he was, out of the place, with the usual rabble at his heels, pelting him with garbage and foul names.”
“Sir,” broke in the Captain, seemingly much moved, “that’s the fault I find in you, that having but one voice in the Council, you don’t exercise that one, but leave all things to be controlled by the Committee of Three.”
“You’re warm, Captain,” said my papa, “or you would scarce set to chide me in the presence of these young persons.”
“I ask your pardon, sir, but excuse you I can’t. Suppose (I say suppose, for I know no more of the matter than yourself) that this vagabond should be a hanger-on of Surajah Dowlah, how will you answer to the Company for your silence?”
“I shall answer with my life, sir, like all here, I suppose,” said Mr Freyne, smartly.
“And also with the lives of your wife and daughter, and all the women here, when the Nabob’s vengeance comes? Even your sole voice raised on Mr Holwell’s side might have brought the Three to reason, but you refused to give it.”
“Sure, Captain, you think a mighty great deal of Mr Holwell,” says Mr Dash.
“I think, sir, that he’s the one man of sense and honour in the Council, beyond a friend of mine that has the sense and honour, but won’t employ ’em, and one or two that are like him.”
“Well, sir, as I see the gentleman himself approaching, I won’t disturb your conversation with him,” said Mr Dash, rising and taking his departure in a very marked manner, though laughing.