"Let 'em go," snarled Slegge to his courtiers. "It's only another way
of getting a hard lesson. I know what the Doctor's dinner-parties are.
Let the stuck-up young brutes go. But if I wasn't about to leave the
blessed old school I would jolly soon let the Doctor know that this sort
of thing won't do. The old humbug told me once that fairplay was a
jewel. I don't call it fairplay to be currying favour with a new boy
because he's an Indian prince. Indian prince, indeed! Indian bear--
cub; that's what I call him, with his leader, currying favour like that!
Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Haw, haw!"
This was a melodramatic laugh of the most sarcastic description,
prefatory to the letting off of a very ponderous joke. "Currying!
Indian curry! That's what he was brought up on. Curry and rice instead
of pap. Look at the colour of his skin. But only wait a bit,"
continued Slegge darkly. "Just wait till the right time comes, and I'll
let you all see."
But the Doctor's dinner-party was not quite so ponderous and learned as
usual, for the incidents of the day formed the main topic of
conversation. The Doctor was in high good-humour, and naturally felt
rather proud of his pupils. They had distinguished themselves, and in
so doing had distinguished him and his school, and the consequence was
that the masters readily took up the subject and were most warm and
friendly to the two lads, the other guest in particular, Professor
Barclay, as Morris took care that he should be called, much to the
annoyance of the classical master, who looked at the new-comer, Morris's
friend, rather suspiciously, regarding him as one likely to poach upon
his preserves.
During the dinner, the Professor had much to say about Sanskrit,
military colleges, and India, and was very attentive to Singh and Glyn,
but found the boys quiet and retiring in the extreme.
All, however, seemed to be enjoying themselves but Mr Rampson, who grew
more uneasy and suspicious over the coffee, pricking up his ears as he
bent over his cup and kept on stirring it, but without drinking, while
the Doctor and the Professor were talking together as if discussing some
subject in a low tone.
The fact must be recorded against the classical teacher that he was
eavesdropping, ungentlemanly as it may sound; but the only thing that
reached his ears was the conclusion of the conversation, when the Doctor
said, raising his voice slightly, "Certainly, Mr Barclay, I shall give
every attention to your testimonials; but my staff of preceptors is
complete, and I have always considered Greek and Latin sufficient for my
pupils, of course with the modern languages thrown in."
The Professor thanked the Doctor effusively, and in the course of the
evening contrived to fix himself like a burr upon Singh, while Mr
Rampson made an effort and secured Glyn to himself, jealously taking
care that the stranger guest and friend, it seemed, of Morris should not
monopolise both the boys.
"It's all a plot," said Rampson to himself--"all a scheme to oust me,
and I'll never forgive Morris so long as I live.--I say," he said aloud,
"that Mr Barclay seems to have a deal to say to your friend the Prince.
Do you know what they are talking about?"
"India, and Sanskrit, and catching elephants," replied Glyn. "Has he
been out in India?"
"Oh, don't ask me," said Rampson with asperity; then correcting himself
quickly, and with a rather ghastly smile, "I say, you two did
distinguish yourselves to-day."
"Oh, did we, sir?" said Glyn, who looked rather tired and bored.
"Please don't say more about it."
"Oh no, of course not, if you don't want to hear it. But your friend
doesn't seem to mind. Why, the Professor's taking him out into the
garden, and the Prince is talking to him as hard as ever he can. Yes,
he doesn't seem to mind."
"No," replied Glyn, as he saw Singh, in obedience to a gesture from his
new acquaintance, sit down upon one of the garden-seats, and for the
next quarter of an hour the boy was talking in quite an animated way,
and evidently answering questions put to him by the Professor.
The evening soon glided away, and the boys gladly thanked their host and
retired to their own room, utterly wearied out by the events of the day.
As a rule, they lay for some time carrying on conversation and
discussing the next day's work; but that night very little was said, and
the only thing worth recording was a few sentences that were spoken and
responded to by Singh in the midst of yawns.
"Talking about India and Sanskrit?" said Glyn.
"Oh yes; he asked me all sorts of questions about Dour, and he asked me
if I had ever seen Sanskrit letters."
"Well?"
"And I told him I had, and he shook his head and asked me where I had
seen them."
"Well, what did you say?"
"That I had got some precious stones in my box with some Sanskrit
letters cut in."
"Why, you never were so stupid as to tell him about that belt?"
"I don't know that there's anything stupid in it," replied Singh
sleepily. "I didn't want him to think I was so ignorant as not to know
about a language that your father can read as easily as English, and has
talked to us about scores of times. Why, of course, I did."
"Well, of all the old _Dummkopfs_ I ever knew, you are the stupidest.
Didn't I tell you that--" _Snore_.
"Why, if he isn't asleep!"
Almost the next moment Glyn was in the same state.