PERMISSION TO TRAVEL.
Mark Jervis had been agreeably surprised by his aunt’s enthusiastic
co-operation; thanks to her powerful alliance, he had carried his
point, and was to spend twelve months travelling in India, accompanied
by Mrs. Pollitt’s brother, Captain Clarence Waring. The latter was
about to revisit his former haunts in an entirely new character--that
of mentor and companion to a young man--and, moreover, a wealthy
young man. All the world has heard of “Pollitt’s Pearl Barley,” and
“Pollitt’s Patent Fowls’ Food.” Are not its merits blazoned in flaming
letters in railway stations, in fields bordering the rocking expresses
that thunder through the land? Does not the name of “Pollitt” greet
the miserable eyes of sea-sick travellers, as they stagger down the
companion ladders of ocean greyhounds? In short, the enterprise of
Daniel Pollitt, and the fame of Pollitt’s pearl barley, is of universal
renown.
Although he has never boasted of the fact, or assured his intimates
that “he began life with the traditional sixpence,” Mr. Pollitt is
a self-made man. He talks freely enough of his wife’s relations, of
his nephew’s famous pedigree, but he has not once alluded in the most
distant fashion to his own little family tree. Yet he has nothing to
be ashamed of. His father was a gentleman by birth, a poor curate, who
had left two almost penniless orphans, Dan and a sister, several years
younger than himself. The former, while yet in his early teens, had
clambered on to a stool in an office in the city, from thence (unusual
flight) he had soared to success and wealth. Thanks to indomitable
industry, shrewdness, and pluck, he was now a merchant of credit and
renown. The latter, who was a remarkably pretty and well-educated girl,
accompanied a lady to India, in the capacity of governess, and, in a
startlingly short time, married Captain Jervis of the Bengal Cavalry,
a good-looking popular officer, with a long pedigree and a somewhat
slender purse. By all accounts, the marriage was a happy one. At the
end of six years Mrs. Jervis died, and their only child, a boy of five,
was sent to school in England. Five years later, he was followed by
his father, who rushed home on three months’ leave, in order to see
little Mark as well as his tailor and his dentist. Major Jervis, a
bronzed, handsome, distinguished soldier, made an excellent impression
on the plodding city man--his brother-in-law, who cordially invited
him to stay with him at Norwood, where he had a luxurious bachelor
establishment. And here, over unimpeachable claret and cigars, the
Indian officer unfolded his plans.
Little Mark was about to have a stepmother, the lady was a Miss
Cardozo, of Portuguese extraction, dark, handsome, not very young, but
enormously wealthy, and quite infatuated about little Mark’s papa. Her
grandfather had been a military adventurer, whose sword and swagger
had gained him the heart and treasures of a Begum. Miss Cardozo’s
father was an indigo planter, in those good old times when indigo crops
brought in lacs of rupees, and she was his sole heiress and an orphan.
Besides the Begum’s wealth and jewels, she owned property in the
Doon, property in the hills, property in Tirhoot, shares in banks and
railways, and large investments in the funds.
Mr. Pollitt’s shrewd little eyes glistened approvingly as he absorbed
these particulars.
“Cut the service, bring her to England, and take a fine country place,”
was his prompt suggestion.
“No, no, she hates England; she was at school over here. She dreads
our winters, and rain and fog,” replied Major Jervis. “And she likes
my being in the service. I can tell you that our men and horses are
something to see! Mércèdes--that is her name--delights in pomp and
show and glitter, and is much attached to India; and to tell you the
honest truth, Pollitt, I’m partial to the country too. I have been out
there twenty-two years, ever since I was eighteen, with only two short
furloughs, and it’s a country that suits me down to the ground. My near
relations in England are every one dead, I have no ties here, all my
friends and interests are out there, and I don’t mind if I end my days
in the East.”
“And what about Mark?” demanded his listener.
“Yes, that is the question,” said his father. “It’s hard lines on
the boy, to have no home with me--but later on he shall go into the
service, and come out to us. You have been wonderfully kind to him I
know, having him here in his holidays, and he is very fond of you, as
he ought to be. I feel rather guilty about him, poor chap; he is ten
years old and I have seen nothing of him for half that time, and now,
goodness knows how or where we may meet again. Of course no money shall
be spared on his education, and all that--but----” he paused.
“But _I’ll_ tell you what you will do,” continued Mr. Pollitt. “I’ll
put the whole matter in a nutshell. You are making a fresh start, you
and the boy are almost strangers, so you won’t feel the wrench. Give
him to _me_, I am fond of him, I have no family--he is a handsome,
plucky little fellow, with poor Lucy’s eyes--I will ensure him a
first-class education, bring him up as my son, and make him my heir,
and leave him all I am worth; come now?”
“It is a splendid offer, Pollitt, but _I_ am fond of him too. I cannot
provide for him as you would, I can only set him out in the world with
a profession, and make him a small allowance, for of course Mércèdes’
money will be settled on herself. If I resigned him to you, in years
to come I might repent, I might want him back.”
“In years to come you will probably have half a dozen other sons, and
be thankful to have one of them off your hands.”
After considerable discussion--Jervis, the father, a little reluctant;
Pollitt, the uncle, exceedingly eager and pressing--the matter was
concluded. Mark was to correspond with his parent as regularly as he
pleased, but he was to be, to all intents and purposes, his uncle
Daniel’s son.
Major Jervis made the most of his five weeks in England. He invested in
a new and gorgeous uniform, a new battery of guns, saddlery, presents
for Indian friends and his _fiancée_, and saw as much as possible of
Mark. The more the pair were acquainted the better they liked each
other. They went to the Tower, Madame Tussaud’s, the Zoo, the theatres.
Mark invariably accompanied his parent to tailors, boot-makers and
gun-smiths, and became subsequently quite the authority on these matters
at school. His soldierly, open-handed sire, who loaded him with gifts,
who told him tales of the stirring deeds of his ancestors, of his own
swarthy sowars, of tiger-hunting and elephant drives, speedily became
his hero and his idol.
On being sounded as to his own choice of a profession, Mark, after
taking thought for a considerable time, gravely announced to his father
and uncle, “that he would prefer to be a bachelor.”
“And by no means a bad choice,” roared Mr. Pollitt, in great glee.
“Stick to that, my boy, stick to that, copy your old uncle.”
“I don’t think he will,” remarked Major Jervis, with decision; “he will
take after me. We are a susceptible race, we Jervises, and I’ll give
him till he is two and twenty.”
The day of parting was a dismal one for father and son. The child
struggled desperately to be a man, to shed no tears, and bore himself
wonderfully, at any rate in public, but after the cab had driven off,
he rushed away and shut himself up in his own little bedroom, and
flung himself upon the floor, and abandoned himself to the bitterest
grief he had ever experienced, and he was ten years old.
Some years after this scene, Mr. Pollitt, to every one’s surprise,
married a faded, elegant-looking woman, of good family, but
portionless. He bought a house in Princes Gate, rented a grouse moor,
deer forest, and hunting box, and invested in some celebrated diamonds.
He had now amassed a great fortune, and at the age of fifty-five,
retired from business, in order to spend it. But here arose an
unexpected difficulty, he did not know how to enjoy the result of his
labours, save by proxy. He looked up to his handsome well-born nephew
to manipulate his thousands, much as a child appeals to an experienced
friend to work a new mechanical toy. All his own youth had been spent
among great city warehouses, on wharves, and in offices. He had never
ridden, save on the top of an omnibus, he could not drive, shoot, row,
or even fish, and, alas! it was now too late to learn. He, however,
took to field sports in the character of a spectator, with surprising
enthusiasm. He walked with the guns on his moors, and was much excited
respecting the bag. He gave fancy prices for his nephew’s hunters, and
attended every meet (on wheels), where there was a prospect of seeing
their performance, following the line, and keeping the hounds in sight
as far as possible, by means of short cuts and glasses.
He was a truly proud man when he saw his nephew’s name in the _Field_
as foremost rider in a sensational run. The worst of it was, that Mark
hated notoriety of any kind, hung back where he should come forward,
came forward when he should have hung back; had actually no desire to
lease a theatre, keep race-horses, or even gamble; in short, he had
not a single extravagant taste. (Here, indeed, was a most singular
case. How many fathers are there in these latter days who feel hurt
and disappointed because their sons will not spend thousands?) On the
other hand, Mrs. Pollitt was only too ready to assist her partner in
laying out large sums. She had many needy connections, and hoped to do
great things for them; but she found, to her deep chagrin, that the
personal spending of her husband’s wealth was denied her. She had a
liberal dress allowance, diamonds of the first water, equipages, a fine
establishment, a French maid; but she might not thrust her hand into
her lord and master’s purse and scatter largesse to her poor relations,
and--what was a truly hard case--she might not even attempt to arrange
an alliance between Mark and one of her nieces. No, Mr. Pollitt was
resolved that his heir should marry _rank_. It must be “Mr. and Lady
Somebody Jervis,” and with Mark’s good looks, money, and birth, there
would be no difficulty in this little matter. Then Mark must go into
Parliament, settle down as a great landed proprietor, and ruffle it
with the best. Thus was his future sketched out by his uncle, who
wisely kept the sketch to himself.
Mrs. Pollitt was surprised to find her dear Daniel so obstinate and
impracticable on several trifling matters. For instance, she had made
up her mind to change the spelling of his name, and had even gone so
far as to have her own cards printed, “Mrs. D. Murray-Paulet, 500,
Princes Gate.”
“How lucky that Daniel has a second name!” she said to herself as she
complacently examined her new title a few days after her marriage.
She tripped across the room and held a card playfully before the
bridegroom’s spectacles, and the tiresome man had exclaimed--
“Who is she? I can’t stand visitors. Here, let me clear out first, if
she is coming up----”
“The new card trick,” as he subsequently called it, had been their
first trial of strength, and the bride had succumbed with tears.
“Change his name!” he had roared-- “his name, that he had made! Never!
He was proud of it. It was the wife who changed her name on marriage,
not the husband. Was she aware of that?”
Another subject on which she had had to yield was the housekeeping
bills; they all passed through Mr. Pollitt’s hands, who settled them by
cheque, consequently there were no pickings.
Mrs. Pollitt had her own particular schemes; she could not offer her
kinsfolk much solid assistance, but did what she could. To her sister
and nieces she distributed dresses and mantles scarcely worn; she gave
them drives, boxes at the theatre, tickets, and perpetual invitations
to dinner, lunch, and all her parties; to her brother Clarence such
sums as she could spare from her pin-money. Clarence was ten years her
junior, gay, _débonnaire_, and good-looking. He had a pair of handsome,
insolent blue eyes, a well-cultivated moustache, an admirable figure,
and a rather overbearing manner. He was a complete man of the world,
who had many pecuniary troubles, no fixed principles, and but few
scruples. He was, nevertheless, pleasant, and by no means unpopular.
Captain Waring had spent every penny that he possessed (and a good many
pennies belonging to other people); and when his regiment came home
from India, he had been compelled to retire from the service, and had
been living ever since on his friends and his wits. This Indian trip
would be a capital thing for him, all expenses paid; and if he and Mark
remained away a year, some of the other connections might get a footing
at Princes Gate. The aphorism, “Absence makes the heart grow fonder,”
does not apply to uncles and nephews.
If Mark were _never_ to return, it would not break his aunt’s heart.
If he had not been her husband’s favourite, she might have been fond
of him. He was exceedingly presentable; she liked to exhibit him in
her carriage or opera-box (a gratification she seldom enjoyed).
He was always polite, always thoughtful of her comfort, always
respectful, though he had shown himself ready with a forcible reply on
one or two critical occasions; but he did not understand the art of
administering flattery, and she consumed it in large doses. Now here
Clarence was supreme; it was _he_ who had solemnly assured her that
she bore a striking resemblance to Sara Bernhardt. Yes, golden voice
and all; and the poor deluded lady believed him, and attired herself
in clinging draperies, and combed her fringe well over her brows in
order to emphasize her undeniable resemblance to the great actress.
Once, when she questioned Mr. Pollitt on the subject, he had laughed
so uproariously--so like a husband--that an apoplectic seizure seemed
imminent.
Captain Waring was most enthusiastic respecting this Indian scheme, and
naturally gave the project his warmest support. _Tête-à-tête_, he said,
“It’s a first-class notion of Mark’s. The uncle keeps him far too
tight in hand. No wonder he wants to break away and see the world and
live his own life, poor devil!”
“What nonsense!” protested Mrs. Pollitt, irritably. “He has plenty of
liberty and a latch-key.”
“And does not know how to use one or other. Besides, the uncle’s
proud eye is always on him; he follows him about like a dog--worse,
for dogs are not admitted into clubs! However, this twelve months’
holiday in a far country will be a most blessed relief to the boy and
A1 business for me. I’m on my last legs; and if this had not turned up,
I’d have had to make strong running with Miss Clodde. She is common
and repulsive looking, but has thirty thousand pounds. I hope I may
never be so _desperate_ as to marry her--at any rate, I have a year’s
respite.”
“How do you know she would have you, Clar?”
Clar’s laugh was an interesting study in manly assurance.
“I really wish you _were_ married,” continued his sister rather
peevishly.
“Yes; to a rich elderly widow who has had her fling--that is my style.”
“What a horrible way of talking! You are really too dreadful. I suppose
this trip will be rather costly?”
“Ra--_ther_!” emphatically.
“And you will be the treasurer?” opening her pale eyes to their widest
extent.
“I’m not so sure of that,” shaking his head. “Of course, as I am the
manager, and am personally conducting this tour, all payments ought to
come from _me_. ‘The uncle,’ however, is rather shy of having monetary
dealings with his brother-in-law, as you know by sad experience.
However, I may be able to work it, once we are in India, and you may
depend upon me for making the most of my time and--opportunities. I
was so hard up, I was thinking of taking a leaf out of Charlie Wilde’s
book. He writes hymns and tracts----”
“How absurd you are! What preposterous nonsense! Charlie Wilde, who
has never entered a place of worship for years, write tracts!”
“I tell you that he does!” persisted Clarence. “He has a wonderful
knack, and does the pathetic and emotional style A1. Gets about ten
pounds apiece, and invests the money in a flutter on the turf.”
“Well, Clar,” said his deeply shocked sister, “I cannot compliment you
on your companions; and, whatever you may come to, I hope you will
never arrive at such a pitch of wickedness as that.”
On one point Captain Waring and Mr. Pollitt were most warmly agreed,
viz. that “the trip must be done in good style if done at all.”
Mark was inclined to travel “on the cheap,” his uncle had complained,
and had protested against a large quantity of baggage, a battery of
guns, and a valet.
“Thirty pair of boots!” he cried. “What rubbish! I am not going to
_walk_ round India!”
“But Clarence says you can’t do with less, and he must know better than
you do,” argued Mr. Pollitt. “I wish you to travel like a gentleman,
not like a bag-man. There is where you disappoint me, my boy--you
make no show, no dash; your tastes are all for quiet--your favourite
character is the violet, and you prefer a back seat. You are going
out in the same steamer with a lot of nobs--I’ve seen to that--and it
is as likely as not that you will join forces when you land. These
swells take to you. As for me, they only take to my dinners, and my
deer forest. However, as long as _you_ are in the best set, I don’t
care--I’m satisfied.”
“I think Clarence and I will stick to ourselves, and not join any
party, sir; we will be more independent. He has sketched out our
beat--Bombay, Poonah, Secunderabad, Travancore, Madras, Ceylon,
Calcutta, the hills; and that puts me in mind to ask if you have any
idea of my father’s whereabouts?”
“Bostock and Bell, Bombay, are his agents,” evading the question and
his nephew’s eyes.
“I know that; I have written to their care steadily for the last six
years.”
“And never had an answer?” with ill-concealed satisfaction.
“No, except a ‘Pioneer’ at long, long intervals.”
“Just to show that he is alive? Let me see, it is eight years since he
left the service and went to live at a place called the Doon. He wrote
pretty regularly up to then; and when Mrs. Jervis was killed in that
carriage accident, he never sent a line, only a paper. Poor woman! I
believe she led him a devil of a life. She was insanely jealous.”
“I suppose I can get his address in Bombay--his real address, I mean?”
“Yes, I should think so.”
“And then I shall look him up--at once.”
“If he will be looked up. The Jervises are an eccentric family. I
heard some queer stories of them not long ago.”
“But my father never struck you as eccentric, did he?”
“No. And, of course, you must try and see him; but don’t let him lay
hands on you and _keep_ you, my boy. He was a handsome, persuasive sort
of fellow, and had wonderful personal charm--when he chose to exert it.
India has cast a spell upon him, and kept him with her for the best
part of his life. Don’t let India do the same by _you_.”
“No fear of that,” with emphasis.
“Well, I’m sorry now you are going out there, for several reasons. I
would have preferred China or Australia, but Waring has his say and his
way.”
“And I had _my_ say and my way too, Uncle Dan. India is my native
land; I remember it distinctly--the servants with their dark faces and
big white turbans, my little chestnut pony, which was called the ‘Lal
Tatoo,’ and I want to see my father. You know we have not met for
fifteen years.”
“I know,” assented Mr. Pollitt, gloomily, and added, after a pause, “I
wonder now, if it would be possible for you to throw me over--and stop
out there with him!”
“There is not the smallest probability of that. Besides, my father does
not want me.”
“And supposing that he _did_!” exclaimed Mr. Pollitt, suddenly jumping
up and beginning to walk about the room. “Bear this in view, that you
must make up your mind between us! You cannot be son and heir to _two_
men! You can pay him a visit of a week, or at most a month; but if you
postpone coming home at his request--I warn you, that you may stay in
India till I fetch you! To put the matter in a nutshell, I wash my
hands of you for ever! Not one farthing of my money will you see,” he
continued, speaking in great excitement. “I shall leave every shilling
to hospitals, you understand that, eh?” he gasped, breathless.
“Yes, and it would be but just. I cannot live with my father in India
and be your adopted son at home, but you are needlessly alarmed. I
shall turn up again within a year without fail. I’ll take a return
ticket if you like.”
“Well, that’s a bargain, my boy. I’m a bit jealous of your father, and
it’s a nasty, low, ungentlemanly feeling. I must confess that I have
been glad that he, so to speak, dropped you. But he handed you over to
me when he married the Begum, and you are _my_ son--not his.”
The day of departure arrived; the valet (a somewhat garrulous person,
with superb references), in charge of three cabs loaded with baggage,
preceded the travellers to Victoria, whilst Mr. and Mrs. Pollitt drove
the young men in the family landau, in order to see the last of them.
As Mark and his uncle slowly paced the platform, the latter, who had
been incessantly fussy all the morning, said--
“Now, I hope nothing has been forgotten, and that you have everything
you want?”
“I’m sure we have--and ten times over.”
“You will write often--once a week--if only a line, eh? Mind you don’t
forget us.”
“No fear of that, Uncle Dan.”
“And remember our bargain. Though I have not taken return tickets,
after all. Don’t stay longer than the year. I don’t know how I’m to
get on without you. I can never use the mail-phaeton now, for I hate
sitting beside the coachman--and--you know, I tried to drive once--and
the result. There will be no one to take me on the river on a hot
afternoon--other people but you think an old fogey has no business
there. Oh, I shall miss you! I’ve lodged money for you in Bombay with
Bostock & Bell’s” (naming a magnificent sum), “and when it’s done, you
must come home, for I won’t send you another stiver. It’s in your name,
of course--you will be paymaster.”
“All right, uncle.”
“Keep your cheque-book locked up. Don’t let a tiger get hold of you, or
one of those scheming, husband-hunting women that Clarence talks about.”
“You may make your mind quite easy on that score,” with a rather
derisive smile.
“Well, time is up, my dear boy. I am sorry you are going; take care of
yourself. God bless you!” wringing his hand as he spoke.
Meanwhile Mrs. Pollitt and her brother had also been having a few
parting words.
“Now, Clar,” she said impressively, “I have done a good thing for you.
This is a splendid chance. Be sure you make the most of it; if you
please the ‘uncle,’ as you call him, he will help you to something
better by-and-by.”
Clarence nodded sagaciously. He was in the highest spirits.
“You are not really limited to time, you know,” she continued, in a
whisper.
“I know,” and there was a significant look in his right eye, almost
approaching to a wink.
“And you will be manager--and paymaster.”
“Guide, councillor, and friend, you _bet_.”
“And now, dear boy, _do_ be prudent; don’t get into any more
entanglements with grass widows; don’t get into any more betting or
gambling scrapes--promise me.”
“I shall be as steady as old Time or young Mark himself, and I can’t
say more. Well, good-bye--and thanks awfully, Lina. I must say you _do_
stick to your own people”--adding, with a hasty kiss--“I see we are
off.”
As the carriage moved slowly past the Pollitts, who were standing side
by side, Clarence flung himself back with a boisterous laugh, as he
exclaimed--
“I declare, the uncle seems quite cut up--ha, ha, ha! Upon my soul, I
believe the old chap is _crying_!”