“Very natural,” assented Carew.  “For my part, I could never see what younger brothers were born for.”

“You’d see it less if you had one to keep,” continued Chandos.  “In old times, now, I could have got Jack something warm and snug under government, or in the colonies; and so I should now, but for one thing—­that he had to pass one of these cursed examinations first.  However, as it had to be done, and as Jack, according to his own account, was as much out of form for one as another of them, I recommended him to try his luck for something in India; for as long as you can keep a fellow on the other side of the world he can’t dun you—­not to hurt; it ain’t like coming and calling himself; and you needn’t read his letters unless you like.  Well, ‘India be it,’ says Jack; ‘that’s as good a place as another;’ though, in my opinion, he never expected to go there.  He thought he had no chance whatever of pulling through, and so did I, for the fact is, Jack is a born fool.”

“Did you say he was your brother, or only your half-brother?” inquired Mr. Byam Ryll, with an appearance of great interest.

“My very own brother, Sir,” replied the unconscious Chandos, flattered to find such attention paid to him; “and as like to me as one thimble, I mean as one pea, is to another.  Well, the strange thing is, the deuce alone knows how it happened, but Jack got through.”  Here he took a bumper of port, as though in honor of that occasion.  “It’s a perfect marvel, but the best thing for him (as well as for me) in the world.  Nobody ever went out under better auspices, for the governor of Bengal is our cousin, and Jack was to school with his private sec.:  it’s a first-rate connection.  Our family has been connected with India for ever so long.  I’ll tell you how.”

“It is a most admirable connection,” observed Mr. Byam Ryll; “and the whole circumstances of the case will, I have no doubt, be interesting in the highest degree to the natives of Bengal.  Your brother should embody them in a neat speech, and deliver it from the deck of the steamer before he lands.”

It is probable that Mr. Frederick Chandos would have so far misunderstood the nature of this observation as to have accepted it as a compliment had not Carew burst into a series of wild laughs, which betokened high approval, and was one of his few tokens of enjoyment.  He had evinced unmistakable signs of discontent and boredom before his intellectual henchman had thus struck in on his behalf; and he was really gratified for the rescue.  Chandos was muttering some drunken words of insolence and anger; but Carew bore him down.

“Pooh, pooh!  Old Byam was right!” cried he, with boisterous mirth.  “I dare say all that long story of yours may interest those black fellows; but for me, I care nothing about it.  It’s all rubbish.  Be quiet, you young fool, I say; it’s too early yet for buffets.  Here, bring the beaker.”