“Once, I believe. But I have never heard much of his antecedents. Latterly I believe he called himself a financial agent, a very vague profession. He was in our station before our regiment went there.”
“I suppose he had lived in India all his life?”
“He had certainly been in England when a young man,” said the captain; “and from some of his reminiscences, appears not to have led a very profitable life there. But how comes it you are so interested in him?”
“I have only been wondering what he was, that’s all,” said Roger, feeling he had been on the topic long enough.
Roger had already written a letter to Ratman, addressed to that gentleman at the General Post Office, London.
“Your letter,” it said, “has perplexed me greatly. If you are my brother, as you say you are, why do you not give some proof? That should be easy. There must be some people who can identify you, or some means of satisfying us all about your claim to be the elder son. I should not resist you, if it were so. Only my guardians would require clear proof before recognising you. As to whether I think well or ill of you, that has nothing to do with the matter if you are really and truly my elder brother. I enclose ten pounds in this, not to show you that I am myself fully satisfied, but to let you see that the bare chance of your being an Ingleton makes me feel anxious you should not think we, as a family, do not stand by one another. I do not expect to be able to repeat it, as my allowance is limited, and my guardians are not likely to consent to hand over any money for you till you can prove your claim. Write and give me more particulars, and I promise you I shall not shirk my duty to you or the name I bear.”
At any other time Roger would have shown this epistle, the writing of which cost him many anxious hours, to Armstrong. Now, however, that help was denied him. The tutor, he knew, would have screwed his eye-glass into his eye and ruthlessly pulled the document to pieces. No. He must play this game off his own bat, and keep his own counsel.
Captain Oliphant, who had a good notion of doing things comfortably with other people’s money, had selected a fashionable hotel at the West End.
“We must see you have every comfort, dear boy,” said he; “in your state of health we cannot afford to rough it. I have ordered a private sitting-room and fires in the bedroom. When you feel strong enough we will do a little sight-seeing; but meanwhile your first consideration must be to recover lost tone and spirits by means of rest and care.”
These constant reminders of his poor health were very unwelcome to the unlucky Roger, who protested that he was in perfect health; and, to prove it, went out next day, in a cold November fog, with no overcoat. The consequence was he caught a severe cold, and had the mortification of listening to a severe lecture from his solicitous guardian on the iniquity of trifling with his precious health.