“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.