“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.”