“He is a good friend to dear Roger,” said the mother. “Roger is devoted to him. I am sure you will get to like him, Edward. He is perhaps a little odd in his manner, but he has a good heart.”
This was about all Mrs Ingleton knew, except that he was a University man and an accomplished musician.
Captain Oliphant was not much enlightened by this description. He sat down, and for the third time carefully read over the “dear one’s” will.
“I think,” said he at lunch-time, “I will stroll over to Yeld this afternoon and see Mr Pottinger. Roger, will you walk with me? A walk would do you good. You are looking pale, my boy.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” said Roger, whose cough, however, was still obstinate. “I’ll come with pleasure.”
A walk of five miles on a damp afternoon through drenched country lanes may be a good specific for a cough in India, but in England it occasionally fails in this respect. Roger was wet through when he reached Yeld.
“I shall not be long,” said the Captain as they reached the attorney’s door. “Don’t catch cold, there’s a good fellow. Remember your health is very precious.”
Roger undertook to act on this considerate advice, and occupied his time of waiting by strolling up and down the High Street in the rain, paying a call here and there at one or two shops, and finally dropping in to see his friend Dr Brandram.
The Captain meanwhile was having an interesting chat with the attorney.
After introducing himself and receiving the suitable congratulations, he said—