MAJOR BYNG’S SUGGESTION.
Major Byng, a wiry, dried-up little officer, with remarkably thin
legs and sporting proclivities, was reclining in a long chair, in the
verandah of the Napier Hotel, Poonah, smoking his after-breakfast
“Trichy,” and running his eye over the “Asian” pocket-book.
“Hullo, Byng, old man!” cried a loud cheerful voice, and looking up,
his amaze was depicted in the countenance he turned upon Clarence
Waring.
“Waring! Why--I thought,” putting down his book and sitting erect.
“Thought I had gone home--sold out and was stone broke. But here I am,
you see, on my legs again.”
“Delighted to hear it,” with a swift glance at Waring’s well-to-do
air and expensive-looking clothes. “Sit down, my dear boy,” he cried
cordially, “sit down and have a cheroot, and tell me all about yourself
and what has brought you back again to the land of regrets? Is it tea,
coffee, or gold?”
“Gold, in one sense. I am companion to a young millionaire, or rather
to the nephew of a man who has so much money--and _no_ children--that
he does not know what to do.”
“And who is the young man? Does _he_ know what to do?”
“His name is Jervis--his rich uncle is married to my sister; we are
connections, you see, and when he expressed a desire to explore the
gorgeous East, my sister naturally suggested _me_ for the post of
guide, philosopher, and friend.”
Here Major Byng gave a short sharp laugh, like a bark.
“We landed in Bombay ten days ago, and are going to tour about and see
the world.”
“What is the programme?”
“_My_ programme is as follows: Poonah races, Secunderabad races, Madras
races, a big game shoot in Travancore, expense no object, elephants,
beaters, club-cook, coolies with letters, and ice for the champagne.
Then I shall run him about in the train a bit, and show him Delhi,
Agra, Jeypore; after that we will put in the end of the cold weather in
Calcutta. I have lots of pals there, and from Calcutta we will go to
the hills, to Shirani. I shall be glad to see the old club again--many
a fleeting hour have I spent there!”
“That same club had a shocking bad name for gambling and bear
fighting,” said Major Byng significantly.
“I believe it had, now you mention it; but you may be sure that it has
reformed--like myself.”
“And this young fellow--what is he like?”
“Quiet, gentlemanly, easy-going, easily pleased, thinks every one a
good sort,” and Waring laughed derisively; “abhors all fuss or show,
never bets, never gets up in the morning with a head, no expensive
tastes.”
“In fact, his tastes are miserably beneath his opportunities! What a
pity it is that the millionaire is not _your_ uncle!”
“Yes, instead of merely brother-in-law, and brothers-in-law are
notoriously unfeeling. However, I have adopted mine as my own blood
relation, for the present. _I_ boss the show. Come and dine with me
to-night, and tell me all the ‘gup,’ and give me the straight tip for
the Arab purse.”
“All right. Is this young Jervis a sportsman?”
“He is a first-class man on a horse, and he plays polo, but he does not
go in for racing--more’s the pity!”
“Plays polo, does he? By Jove!” and an eager light shone in the major’s
little greenish eyes. “I’ve a couple of ponies for sale----”
“He does not want them now, whatever he may do later in Calcutta or in
the hills. I shall be looking out for three or four for myself, good
sound ones, mind you, Byng, up to weight. I’ve put on flesh, you see,
but I dare say my anxious responsibilities will wear me down a bit.
Jervis does not weigh more than ten stone, and, talk of the devil, here
he comes.”
Major Byng turned his head quickly, as at this moment Waring’s
travelling companion, a slight, active-looking young man, entered the
compound, closely pursued by a swarm of hawkers, and their accompanying
train of coolies, bearing on their heads the inevitable Poonah figures,
hand-screens, pottery, beetle-work, silks, silver, and jewellery.
“I say, Waring,” he called out as he approached, “just look at me!
One would think I was a queen bee. If this goes on, you will have to
consign me to a lunatic asylum, if there is such a place out here.”
“Mark, let me introduce you to my old friend, Major Byng.”
Major Byng bent forward in his chair--to stand up was too great an
exertion even to greet a possible purchaser of polo ponies--smiled
affably, and said--
“You are only just out, I understand. How do you like India?”
“So far, I loathe it,” sitting down as he spoke, removing his topee,
and wiping his forehead. “Ever since I landed, I have lived in a state
of torment.”
“Ah, the mosquitoes!” exclaimed Major Byng, sympathetically; “you will
get used to them. They always make for new arrivals and fresh blood.”
“No, no; but human mosquitoes! Touts, hawkers, beggars, jewellers,
horse-dealers. They all set upon me from the moment I arrived. Ever
since then, my life is a burthen to me. It was pretty bad on board
ship. Some of our fellow-travellers seemed to think I was a great
celebrity, instead of the common or ordinary passenger; they loaded me
with civil speeches, and the day we got into Bombay I was nearly buried
alive in invitations, people were _so_ sorry to part with me!”
“Here is a nice young cynic for you!” exclaimed Captain Waring,
complacently. “He is not yet accustomed to the fierce light that
beats upon a good-looking young bachelor, _heir_ to thirty thousand a
year----”
“Why not make it a hundred thousand at once, while you are about it?”
interrupted the other impatiently. “How could they tell I was _heir_ to
any one? I’m sure I am a most everyday-looking individual. My uncle’s
income is not ticketed on my back!”
“It was in one sense,” exclaimed Waring, with a chuckle.
“It was only with the common, vulgar class that I was so immensely
popular.”
“My dear fellow, you are much too humble minded. You were popular with
every one.”
“No, by no means; I could have hugged the supercilious old dame who
asked me with a drawl if I was in any way related to Pollitt’s patent
fowl food? I was delighted to answer with effusion, ‘Nephew, ma’am.’
_She_ despised me from the very bottom of her soul, and made no foolish
effort to conceal her feelings.”
“Ah! She had no _daughters_,” rejoined Waring, with a scornful
laugh. “The valet told all about you. He had nothing on earth to
do, but magnify his master and consequently exalt himself. Your
value is reflected in your gentleman’s gentleman, and he had no mock
modesty, and priced you at a cool million! By the way, I saw him
driving off just now in the best hotel landau, with his feet on the
opposite cushions, and a cigarette in his mouth. He is a magnificent
advertisement.”
They were now the centre of a vast mob of hawkers, who formed a
squatting circle, and the verandah was fully stocked. The jewellers had
already untied their nice little tin boxes from their white calico
wrappers, and their contents were displayed on the usual enticing
squares of red saloo.
“Waring Sahib!” screamed an ancient vendor with but one eye. “Last
time, three four years ago, I see you at Charleville Hotel, Mussouri, I
sell your honour one very nice diamond bangle for one pretty lady----”
“Well, Crackett, I’m not such a fool now. I want a neat pearl pin for
myself.” He proceeded to deliberately select one from a case, and
then added with a grin, “That time, _I_ paying for lady; _this_ time,
gentleman,” pointing to Jervis, “paying for _me_.”
“I can’t stand it,” cried Jervis, jumping to his feet. “Here is the
man with the chestnut Arab and the spotted cob with pink legs, that
has been persecuting me for two days; and here comes the boy with the
stuffed peacock who has stalked me all morning; and--I see the girl in
the thunder and lightning waistcoat. I know she is going to ask me to
ride with her,” and he snatched up his topee and fled.
Major Byng noticed Jervis at the _table d’hôte_ that evening. He
had been cleverly “cut off” from Waring, and was the prey of two
over-dressed, noisy young women. Mrs. Pollitt was mistaken, second-rate
people _did_ come to India.
“I’ll tell you what, Waring!” he said to that gentleman, who was in
his most jovial, genial humour, “that young fellow is most shamefully
mobbed. His valet has given him away. If you don’t look out, he will
slip his heel ropes and bolt home. Pray observe his expression! Just
look at those two women, especially at the one who is measuring the
size of her waist with her _serviette_, for his information. He will go
back by the next steamer; it is written on his forehead!”
“No, he won’t do that,” rejoined Clarence, with lazy confidence. “He
has a most particular reason for staying out here for a while; but I
grant you that he is not enjoying himself, and does not appear to
appreciate seeing the world--and it is not a bad old world if you know
the right way to take it. Now, if _I_ were in his shoes,” glancing
expressively across the table, “I’d fool that young woman to the very
top of her bent!”
In the billiard-room, when Mark joined them, Major Byng said--
“I saw your dismal plight at dinner, and pitied you. If you want to
lead a quiet life, and will take an old soldier’s advice, I would say,
get rid of the valet, send him home with half your luggage. Then start
from a fresh place, where no one knows you, with a good Mussulman
bearer, who is a complete stranger to your affairs. Let Clarence
here be paymaster--_he_ can talk the language, and looks wealthy and
important--he won’t mind bearing the brunt, or being taken for a rich
man if the trouble breaks out again, and you can live in peace and gang
your ain gait.”
The Major’s advice was subsequently acted upon,--with most excellent
results. The cousins meanwhile attended the Poonah races, where
Clarence met some old acquaintances.
One of them privately remarked to Major Byng--
“Waring seems to have nine lives, like a cat, and looks most festive
and prosperous. I saw him doing a capital ready-money business with the
‘Bookies’ just now--and he is a good customer to the Para Mutual. It is
a little startling to see _him_ in the character of mentor. I only hope
he won’t get into _many_ scrapes!”
“Oh, Telemachus has his head screwed on pretty tight, and he will look
after Waring--the pupil will take care of the teacher. He is a real
good sort, that boy. I wonder if his people know how old Clarence used
to race, and carry on and gamble at the lotteries, and generally play
the devil when he was out here?”
“Not they!” emphatically.
“He owes me one hundred rupees this three years, but he is such a
tremendous Bahadur now, that I am ashamed to remind him of such a
trifling sum. I sincerely hope that he has turned over a new leaf and
is a reformed character. What do you say, Crompton?”
“I say ‘Amen,’ with all my heart,” was the prompt response.
Mark Jervis had gone straight to the agents, Bostock & Bell’s, the day
he had landed in Bombay, and asked for his father’s address. He only
obtained it with difficulty and after considerable delay. The head of
the firm, in a private interview, earnestly entreated him to keep the
secret, otherwise they would get into trouble, as Major Jervis was a
_peculiar_ man and most mysterious about his affairs, which were now
entirely managed by a Mr. Cardozo. Major Jervis had not corresponded
with them personally, for years. He then scribbled something on a card,
which he handed to the new arrival, who eagerly read, “Mr. Jones,
Hawal-Ghât, via Shirani, N.W.P.” The major’s son despatched a letter
with this superscription by the very next post.