It was when he began to talk that you would best understand what a ruin it was. He was chary of his oaths and loose expressions—but when he spoke the words came out vulgarly, with a sleepy, half-tipsy drawl, which jarred on the ear.
Any words from the lips of Robert Ratman, however, would have jarred on the ears of Captain Oliphant.
“Aren’t you glad to see me?” said the new arrival, putting his hat cheerfully on the writing-table and helping himself to an easy-chair. “As usual, writing billets doux to the ladies! Ah, Teddy, my boy, at your time of life too! Now, for a youngster like me—”
“I thought you would not be able to leave Southampton till the end of the week?”
“Couldn’t resist the temptation of giving you a pleasant surprise. Why, Teddy, you look exactly as if you thought it was the arm of the law on your shoulder and heard the rattle of the handcuffs. Never mind. They’re all safe. I know where they keep them.”
“Ratman,” said the captain, “you have a very poor idea of humour. You have made me blot my letter, and I shall have to write it over again.”
“Take your time, old boy. No hurry. I shall not be going away for six months or so.”
Captain Oliphant came to the conclusion he had better finish the letter with the blot than attempt a new one. Having done so, he put it in his pocket, and turned with a good show of coolness to his guest.
“When do we run down to Maxfield?” inquired the latter.
“Not for some time. There is illness in the house. You must wait.”