They drove on for some time in silence, and then the captain said abruptly: "I had a visitor this morning, in a state of great excitement; he hasn't been near me since you went to London. Can you guess?"
Comethup looked at him inquiringly and shook his head. "No," he said. "Who was it?"
"Your uncle, Robert Carlaw. Said he'd had a great shock; that Brian had left him suddenly, without giving the slightest warning of where he was going or what his intentions were; he had merely left a curt note--I saw the note, and it was really very rude--a curt note saying he was going away, and did not intend to return or to trouble his father again. I suppose that mad fellow, your uncle, was fond of the boy in his way; at all events, he ramped and raved about the place, and talked of ingratitude, and serpents' teeth, and thankless children, and what not, until I was quite glad to get rid of him. I wonder where the boy has gone?"
"I saw him yesterday," said Comethup. "He came here--to the school, you know--to see me. He told me he was going to London to make his fortune; that he'd quarrelled with his father, and didn't mean to go back to him. I was awfully surprised to see him."
"But what's he going to do in London, without friends and without money?" Then, as Comethup sat silent, looking before him, the captain dropped a hand on the boy's arm. "Comethup, he didn't come to you merely to say good-bye, after seeing nothing of you for eight years. I suppose you----"
"Oh, I could see that he was in distress," broke in Comethup, hurriedly, "and when I'd got such a lot I couldn't very well let him go to London without a penny. You see, London is a big place, and he might starve--anything might happen. So I just gave him--well, just a little money; and I told him to write to me and let me know how he was getting on; I gave him my address in London."
The captain was silent for a few moments, and then he said: "Well, well, I suppose you were right; you couldn't let the fellow go without a penny. But if I were you, Comethup, I shouldn't mention the matter to your aunt. I detest deceit, but there are some things it's just as well in this world to say nothing about. Miss Carlaw--very properly, no doubt--dislikes your cousin, and she might be hurt if she thought you were spending her money on him. Personally, I don't like the fellow, but I think it was the only thing you could do. But I don't think I'd say anything to Miss Carlaw about it."