"Oh, I say, what a lovely morning!"
Glyn, who had lain awake half the night, woke up with a start, to see
Singh standing barefooted by the window, which he had just thrown wide
open to let in the joyous sunshine and the soft sweet air. "Yes,
jolly," he cried, inhaling a deep breath. "No! Most miserable morning
I ever saw," and he sank back sitting on the edge of his bed, to utter a
deep groan.
Singh sprang to his side in an instant. "Glyn, old chap, what's the
matter? Are you ill?"
"Yes, horribly. In my head. Oh, I say! I couldn't sleep for ever so
long last night for thinking about it."
"Then why didn't you wake me, old fellow? I'd have dressed directly and
gone and told the Doctor."
"What about?"
"You being so ill."
"Bah!" cried Glyn angrily. "It isn't salts and senna. What a fellow
you are! You don't mean to say that you'd forgotten that the dad's
coming down to-day?"
Singh plumped himself down on the carpet like a native of Dour,
untroubled by clothes, with his knees nearly to his ears and his crossed
hands before him resting on the floor, while his face lost its
sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair.
"Yes, I had," he said, with a groan; "all about it. Here," he cried
passionately, "I won't be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a
chief, and the belt was mine. It's gone, and I won't be bullied about
it by any one."
"Not even by your guardian, eh?"
"Not even by my guardian," cried the boy haughtily. "If Colonel Severn
says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won't hear another word,
and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another
exactly like the one that has been stolen."
"Of course," said Glyn solemnly. "It'll be as easy as kissing your
hand, and they'll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old
Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so
beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in
London who can do that Indian embroidery."
Singh nodded his head shortly.
"Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!" continued Glyn; "why, even if they
could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of
the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came
down from the past, and that your father used to wear?"
Singh's eyes dilated and his lips parted.
"No," he said with a groan. "Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you
call yourself my friend!"
"Never," cried Glyn. "It was you said I was."
"Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to
comfort me, you call me names."
"Yes, but I didn't call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the
truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham?
Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?"
"No, I suppose not," groaned Singh. "I am a prince, and going to be
very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my
own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not
a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven't got half such a head
as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and
full of what you may call it."
"Brains," said Glyn cynically.
"No, no; I don't mean that," said Singh piteously. "Don't tease me, old
chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head's full of that stuff, I don't
remember what you call it--I mean what you have when you are very sorry
for something you have done."
"Misery?"
"No, no. Here, I remember--remorse. I know well enough now, though I
don't like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care
always to lock it up, that belt wouldn't be gone."
"Well, it's too late to talk about that," said Glyn, "and it's no use to
cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when
he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man."
"I can't. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn't going to be
the same belt," cried the boy passionately, "I shall give your father
orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders," he repeated,
with increased emphasis, "to have a new one made."
Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the
air. "Ho, ho! ha, ha!" he roared with laughter. "What a game! Mind
and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and
cry `Cock-a-doodle-doo' at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty
prince to him! Why, he'd stare at you. You know his way. And he'd
take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight
before he began; and then he'd get up out of his chair, take hold of you
by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he
seated himself again. And then he'd talk, and at the first word he
said, he'd blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you'd curl up like
a--oh, I don't know what. It's nonsense to try and think of similes,
for you'd never say what you pretend."
"Well, then, I shall bolt, as you call it," cried Singh. "I won't face
him. I can't face him."
"Why?"
"Because I am too proud I suppose, and the Colonel isn't my master."
"I say, Singhy, get off the stilts, old chap, and be a man over it. You
know what the dad always used to say to both of us: `A fellow who has
done wrong and owns up like a man is half-forgiven at once.'"
"Oh yes, I recollect. But do help me now, I am in such trouble."
"You are in no worse trouble than I am."
"Oh yes, I am. You are not to blame, for you did tell me to be careful;
and though I didn't like it at the time, I can see now how right you
were."
"Yes; but I wasn't half right enough. I ought to have made you tell the
Doctor what you'd got in the box, and then he'd have insisted upon its
being kept in a safer place."
"But I wouldn't have given it up," cried Singh angrily.
"Oh yes, you would," continued Glyn; "and I feel now that I ought to
have gone straight to the Doctor and told about your going to see
Professor Barclay."
"No, you oughtn't, and you wouldn't have been such a sneak. Besides, it
would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me
there. Did you want him to lose his place?"
"Well, no," said Glyn thoughtfully.
"And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little
money now and then--I mean, giving it--it was my own money, and what's
the good of having money if you don't do good with it?"
"Well," said Glyn thoughtfully, "there is something in that," and the
boy seemed yielding to his companion's attack.
Singh realised this, and pressed it home.
"I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with
yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things."
"That I am not!" cried Glyn indignantly.
"Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling
cake in your box now."
"Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if
we ought to have a little more supper."
"Oh, bother!" cried Singh angrily. "What shall I do. Here, I know. I
shall go."
"What, run away?"
"Yes," cried Singh, "and stop away till my guardian writes to me and
begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way
till he promises that he won't say another word about the belt."
Glyn chuckled to himself softly. "How are you going to make terms?" he
said.
"I shall write to him," cried Singh importantly.
"Without giving any address?" said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in
his eye.
"What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can
write to me again--"
"And then he won't write to you," said Glyn. "He'll come to you and
fetch you back with a flea in your ear."
"Oh, you are a brute!" cried Singh viciously. "And I feel as if I
could--No, I won't. I shall treat you with contempt."
"That's right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren't you?
Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That's what you are."
"Well, why don't you help me then? What am I to do?"
"Get dressed, I think," said Glyn. "Don't be what old Brohanne calls a
_bete_--big fool. Do as I do. Go and have it out with the dad, and get
out of one's misery. He won't be very hard."
"Oh, if it was only a good--good--good--What's that you say?"
"Bullying?"
"No, no. It was a bit of slang, and I like to use bits of English slang
when I can; they'll be so useful to know by-and-by when I am scolding my
people. Not bullying, but--"
"Oh, you mean tongue-thrashing?" said Glyn.
"Yes, that's it, tongue-thrashing. I wouldn't mind then. I feel so
ashamed of myself."
"All right. So do I, I suppose, for making a mess of it when I wanted
the dad to think that I had managed you so well that I was making myself
fit to be your friend and companion when we both grew up to be men."
The next minute the lads were busy making their preparations to descend
for a little study before the breakfast-bell should ring; and as he
washed and dressed, Glyn's brow looked wrinkled and cloudy, for he was
thinking very seriously all the while.
On the other hand, Singh dressed himself as if he had a quarrel with
everything. He chipped the edge of the basin as he handled the ewer,
dropped the lid of the soap-dish with a clatter, and as he washed
himself he burst out with an angry ejaculation, for the wet soap was
gripped so tightly and viciously that it flew out of his hand as if in
fear, and dived right under the bed to the farthest end, where it had to
be hunted out and retrieved, covered with the flue that had been
forgotten by one of the maids; while the way in which he finished off
with his towel was harsh enough to produce a smarting sensation upon his
skin.