"Yes," said Wyatt, "I was an awful young scamp when I was a boy."
"Don't believe it," said Dick shortly.
Wyatt turned upon him quickly, and sat looking him full in the eyes for
a few moments, a pleased expression gathering in his big, manly face.
Then he reached out his hand and shook his young friend's hand.
"Thank ye, Dick," he said, warmly. "I like that. Does a fellow good.
But I was, you know."
"I dare say you were thoughtless and got into scrapes, played tricks,
and that sort of thing; but you're such a big, honest, straightforward,
manly sort of fellow, with the heart of a boy, that I can't believe you
ever did anything very bad. I say, I beg your pardon, Wyatt," added
Dick hastily.
"What for?"
"Speaking out so freely, and saying you were like a boy."
"I like it, I tell you. It's true enough. I'm big and old enough, but
I don't feel so, Dick. Ever since you joined you seem to have been
quite a companion."
"You've treated me as if I were."
"Of course I have. You see, we meet half-way. I'm a youngish sort of
fellow, and you're a regular, thoughtful, old man kind of chap with
plenty of brains. That's how it is, I suppose."
Dick smiled.
"No," said Wyatt thoughtfully; "setting aside bits of mischief--pranks,
you know--I don't think I ever did anything very bad; but the dear old
governor was down upon me once for telling him a lie. He said it hurt
him more than it did me when he gave me the thrashing, but I didn't
believe it then. I do now, for if Bob Hanson is flogged, I believe
honestly it will hurt me more than it does him."
"Did your father ever thrash you again?" asked Dick, looking at his big
friend anxiously.
"No," said Wyatt, turning away his head and beginning to whistle a march
very softly and solemnly.
"What a pity! And so you told him a lie?" said Dick sadly.
"No!" thundered out Wyatt.
"Ah! you didn't?" cried Dick, leaping up to lay his hand on Wyatt's
shoulder. "I am glad of that."
"Thank ye, old man," said Wyatt. "It was all a big mistake. He thought
I had."
"But why didn't you tell him--why didn't you explain?"
"Stupid, proud, young fool," said Wyatt gruffly.
"What a pity!" said Dick. "But he soon knew, of course?"
"No," said Wyatt slowly, "he never knew. He came out here to India soon
after in command of his regiment, and the next thing we heard--"
He stopped short, and Dick stood looking down at the back of his head,
as he went on slowly whistling the march again, his companion listening
in silence.
"Know that tune, Dick, old chap," he said huskily, and without looking
round.
Dick nodded; he felt as if he could not speak.
"Ah, yes, of course you do," continued Wyatt, though he had not glanced
round and seen the nod--it was as if he felt the sign. "It was at the
storming of Ghazeebad. The dear old dad led his men through the breach,
and didn't drop till the colours were planted on the top of the main
works, and the boys were cheering like mad. That was the march they
buried him to, Dick. The dear old dad! A braver man never stepped."
"And he never knew that it was all a mistake--that he had punished you
wrongfully?"
"No," said Wyatt. "I ought to have written and told him on my word of
honour that I had not told a lie. Yes, I ought to have done that, Dick,
instead of feeling ill-used and proud."
He turned round as he spoke, and met Dick's eyes gazing at him
wonderingly, as the lad seemed to be gaining a new reading of his big
friend's character.
"There," he said, smiling sadly, "it was all a mistake;" and he added
simply, "But he knows it now, Dick--the dear old dad!"
They sat together without speaking for some minutes then, and Wyatt was
the first to break the silence.
"Yes," he said, "I'd give anything sooner than that poor, weak, stupid
fellow should be flogged, but the big-wigs have said it, Dicky, my boy;
and that isn't the worst of it."
"There is no worse," cried Dick angrily.
"Oh, yes, there is, dear boy; we shall have to go out to a grand parade
and see the brutal business done."
"I won't," cried Dick fiercely.
"Yes, you will, old lad. Duty, discipline, and the rest of it."
"I'd sooner resign my commission."
"No. It's for an example to the men; it's part of the regimental rules,
and we can't break them ourselves. As to throwing up your commission, I
should like to catch you at it! Why, it would be playing the sneak to
go and leave us in the lurch just when we're going up-country."
"Then it isn't all talk? We are going up-country?"
"I suppose so. Going to help some rajah chap whose next-door
neighbour's trying to nibble away his territory, or something of that
kind. Anyhow, it means fighting."
"But I can't sit there and see that man flogged, for somehow I like him,
Wyatt."
"Well, it is a bad business, Dick; but duty, old fellow, duty, you know.
There, don't let's talk any more about it. Only makes one feel
low-spirited."
They went out for a stroll about the barracks, which meant a look in at
the horses, when Burnouse acknowledged his new master's presence with a
whinny whose friendly sound was spoiled by an ugly, vicious way of
laying back his ears.
"Don't do that, stupid," growled Wyatt; "I'm not going to hit you with a
pitchfork. Think he's better now that Dondy Lal's gone?"
"I'm sure he is," said Dick.
"That's right. Let's go and have a look at the elephants. Wonder
whether we shall have them with us. I like elephants."
They strolled over to the great stables where the huge beasts were
chained by one leg to short, picket-like posts, and stood swaying their
heads about and writhing their trunks.
Dick's friend held out his proboscis directly, but the lad had nothing
for him, and the great beast seemed to understand it and to be friendly
all the same, passing the end of his soft trunk about the visitors'
arms, and suffering it to be held before the pair went away.
"Yes," said Wyatt in his big, simple way, "I like elephants. Wouldn't
mind keeping one for a pet, even if he ruined me for his prog. I do
wish, though, they went to a better tailor's."
"Went where?" cried Dick, laughing.
"Better tailor's. Their trousers never seem to fit."
Dick and his big friend parted soon after, Wyatt having an appointment
to see Hulton about some business connected with the troop, leaving Dick
with two important matters to think about--the possibility of going
up-country and seeing service, and the horror of the punishment to be
meted out to a man in whom he could not help taking a great deal of
interest. He went over these themes for some time, connecting the
former with the sword that he meant to have sent to the armourer that
day.
That night, when he went to bed, a fresh train of thought commenced in
connection with Wyatt, and he dwelt long upon his friend's words, and
the glimpse he had caught of what the man really was.
"I didn't know," thought Dick, as he dwelt long upon the sad page in the
lieutenant's history, "but I began to like him directly, and I believe
he began to like me. He must, or he wouldn't have been so friendly. It
seems so strange, too, for we make a curious pair. I am right, though--
big, brave man as he is, he is quite a boy at heart."
Dick lay thinking then, his mind back upon the punishment, and the
horror of being paraded out in the open space yonder to see that
horrible flogging.
"Could I do anything to stop it?" he thought, and this kept him wakeful
for another hour; while, when in the silence of the hot night he did
drop asleep, it was to have the imaginary scene of the preparation for
the punishment all before his eyes, while he looked on, saying to
himself:
"Can't I do something to stop all this?"