It was the Philip of six months before, save only for a certain weariness about the eyes and some lines in the face which had not been there before. He stopped the Captain with a gesture of his hand when that gentleman in his excitement would have summoned Mrs. Quist to share his joy, and they sat down together on the bank beside the patch of grass on which the caravan stood.
“I wanted to have a chat with you, old friend, before going away again,” said Philip after a pause. “So—coming to Bamberton to-day—for the last time—on business, I thought as I heard that the circus was here that I’d walk over. And how are you prospering?”
“Never better,” replied the Captain rubbing his hands. “Whether it is, Phil, that the experience I gained, so to speak, in a life on the rollin’ main is valuable—or wot it is, I don’t know; but certain it is that they comes to my circus w’erever I ’appens to stop—an’ they claps their ’ands to a quite remarkable extent, an’ they laughs at the clown over ’is oldest jokes, min’ yer—things as my poor ole mother used to ’ush me ter sleep with—in sich a way that the chap is a beginnin’ to give ’isself airs. You remember the melancholy lookin’ man wot ’auled you out of the fly that night on this ’ere very road—don’t yer? Well—I do assure you, Phil, that that chap is a gettin’ fat on applause alone; ’is things ’as bin let out twice in two months.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” said Philip laughing. “And how is Mrs. Quist?”
“Fine—an’ ’earty,” responded the Captain. “More than all she’s a beginnin’ to take an interest in ’osses an’ talks sometimes as if she’d lived over a stable all ’er days. But—now you’ll be surprised to ’ear this, Phil, I know you will—she won’t ’ear of no fat ladies. Puts ’er foot on ’em, so to speak, I do assure you.”
“Really?” said Philip, hiding a smile. “You surprise me. But now I want to talk for a moment about myself; for I may not have a chance of speaking to you again—at any time.”
The Captain looked at him in dismay. “Why—wot do yer mean, Phil, my lad?” he said.
“Well—to tell you the truth at once—I’m going abroad,” replied Philip. “I made a mistake from one point of view in ever coming back at all; I’ve brought endless misery on any number of innocent heads and have done no good—for I’m poorer than when I came. My unfortunate brother had practically got rid of everything that could be disposed of and owed money all the way round. When after my release I came to look into affairs, I found—or rather I was advised—that I need not pay a single penny of his debts; that as they had been contracted by him while the property was not his, but mine, as the elder brother, I might repudiate everything. But of course I couldn’t do that; I made up my mind to get rid of the place and pay as much as possible of what was owing.”
“An’ did you?” asked the Captain.
Philip laughed somewhat bitterly. “Why no,” he said. “For I found when it came to the point of selling that I had nothing to sell; a certain Jew money-lender held a mortgage on the place and on every stick it contained. He’s selling it up to-day, at this very hour. No, old friend, the game is played out; and I start the world once more. I have enough to carry me back to Australia and to give me a little start there; and I sail in a few days’ time.”