CHAPTER X.
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.