"Dead," I said in a low voice.
"Oh!" said my companion softly too. "I didn't know."
"He was shot--out in India--Chillianwallah," I said.--"Died of his
wounds."
"Oh, I am sorry! I wish my father had been there."
"Why?"
"He'd have cured him. There's nobody like him for wounds. But, I say,
Chillian what's its name?"
"Chillianwallah," I said.
"Why, what a game! That's where old Lomax was. I remember now."
"Is Lomax one of the boys," I asked wonderingly.
"Yah! no. You saw him last night, when you came in the fly. That big
chap who lives at the lodge, and helped lift down your box. He had a
shot through him, and nearly had his head cut off with a tully
something. He'll tell you. He has a pension, and is our drill-master,
and teaches boys riding."
This was interesting, and I felt a desire to know old Lomax.
"What's your mother?" said my companion, breaking in upon my musing.
"A lady," I said proudly.
"So's mine. She's the nicest and best and--" At that moment I heard a
loud, deep-throated cough, which was followed by a shuffling and
stamping, as I saw all the boys rise in their places.
"Get up--get up," whispered my neighbour. "The Doctor."
I rose in my place, and saw the tall, stout, clerical-looking gentleman
I had seen when I reached Meade Place on the previous night, enter by
the middle door, and look gravely and smilingly round.
"Good morning, gentlemen," he said. "Good morning, Mr Rebble;" and
then he marched solemnly to the pulpit on the dais, took his place,
waved his hand, there was a repetition of the rustling and shuffling as
the boys reseated themselves, and then the humming murmur of the school
recommenced.
"I say, how old are you?" whispered my companion.
"Sixteen--nearly," I replied.
"Well, that is rum. So am I. So's lots of fellows here. Where did you
go to school before?"
"Nowhere. Had a private tutor at home."
"Well, you must be a muff."
"Why?"
"To give up a private tutor all to yourself to come to school here."
"Obliged to. Uncle said I should grow into a--"