Glyn Severn's Schooldays

George Manville Fenn

"Glyn Severn's Schooldays"

Chapter One.

The New Boys.

Slegge said it was all “bosh;” for fifty years ago a boy at school had not learned to declare that everything which did not suit his taste was “rot.” So Slegge stood leaning up against the playground wall with a supercilious sneer upon his lip, and said it was all “bosh,” and only fit for children.

The other fellows, he said, might make idiots of themselves if they liked, he should stop in and read; for Dr Bewley, DD, Principal of the world-famed establishment—a grey, handsome, elderly gentleman in the truest sense of the word—had smilingly said after grace at breakfast that when he was a boy he used to take a great deal of interest in natural history, and that he presumed his pupils would feel much the same as he did, and would have no objection to setting aside their classical and mathematical studies for the morning and watching the entrance of the procession when it entered the town at twelve o’clock.

The boys, who were all standing and waiting for the Doctor to leave the dining-hall, gave a hearty cheer at this; and as the ragged volley died out, after being unduly prolonged by the younger pupils, instead of crossing to the door from the table, the Doctor continued, turning to the mathematical master:

“I think, Mr Morris, you might be kind enough to tell Wrench to get the boy to help him and place a line of forms by the wall, so that the young gentlemen can enjoy the privilege of having a prolonged private box above the crowd; or, shall I say, a high bank in this modern form of the classic amphitheatre?”

“Hear, hear!” said Mr Rampson, the heavy, solid-looking classical master, impressed by the Principal’s allusion to the Roman sports; and he grumbled out something in a subdued voice, with his eyes shut. What it was the boys did not hear, but it was evidently a Latin quotation, and ended in ibus.

The Doctor then marched slowly towards the door, with his black gown floating out around him, and carrying his mortar-board cap by the limp corner; for while everything about him was spick and span—his cravat of the stiffest and whitest as it supported his plump, pink, well-shaven chin, and his gown of the glossiest black—a habit of holding his college cap by its right-hand corner had resulted in the formation of a kind of hinge which made the University headpiece float up and down in concert with his stately steps as he turned his head from side to side and nodded benignantly at first one and then another of his junior pupils.

The masters followed, looking very severe indeed; and, following the example set by Mr Morris, they all frowned and shook their heads at the great waste of time that would follow the passing of the procession.

“So childish of the old man,” said Morris to the French master, Monsieur Brohanne, a particularly plump-looking Gaul. “The boys will be fit for nothing afterwards.”

“Certainement!” said the French master.

“But I suppose I must give orders for these seats to be placed;” and as soon as he was outside he summoned Wrench—the pale-faced and red-nosed official whose principal duty it was, with the assistance of a sturdy hobbledehoy (Mounseer Hobby-de-Hoy, as the boys called him) to keep well-blackened the whole of the boots in the big establishment—and gave orders to carry out and run a line of forms all along the outer wall of the great playground, which was continued farther on by the cricket-field hedge.

“A great waste of time,” said Morris; but he gave very strict orders to the man-servant that the biggest and strongest form was to be chalked “Number One,” and reserved for the masters only.

There was a buzz in the dining-hall which grew into a roar as the door closed. The boys, who had sat down to breakfast rather wanting in appetite—from the fact that their consciences were not very clear regarding studies in English and French or certain algebraic solutions or arrangements in angles specified by “A B C” and “D E F,” according to the declarations of a well-known gentleman named Euclid—felt in their great relief as if they would like another cup of coffee and two slices more, for the holiday was quite unexpected.

It was about this time that Slegge gave his opinion to his following, which was rather large, he being the senior pupil and considering himself head-chief of the school, not from his distinguished position as a scholar, but from the fact that his allowance of cash from home was the largest of that furnished to any pupil of the establishment, without counting extra tips. Slegge, Senior—not the pupil, for there was no other boy of the same name in the school, but Slegge père, as Monsieur Brohanne would have termed him—being sole proprietor of the great wholesale mercantile firm of Slegge, Gorrock and Dredge, Italian warehousemen, whose place of business was in the City of London, and was, as Slegge insisted, “not a shop.”

“You fellows,” he said, “can do as you like. Some of you had better set up a wicket and the net, and come and bowl to me. Ha, ha! look at Thames and the Nigger! It will just suit them. Those Indian chaps think of nothing else but show. I shan’t be at all surprised if the nigger goes up to dress and comes down again in white muslin and a turban.—I say! Hi! Thames! Rivers! What’s your stupid name? It’s going to be a hot day. You ought to come out with the chow-chow.”

“No, no,” whispered a boy beside him, “chowri.”

“Well, chow-chow, chowri; it’s all the same,” said the big lad impatiently. “Horse-tail to whisk the flies away.—Hi! do you hear?”

“Are you speaking to me?” said the tall, very English-looking lad addressed.

“Of course I am.”

“Well, you might address me by my name.”

“Well, so I did. Thames. No, I remember, Severn! What idiots your people were to give themselves names like that!”

“Well, it’s as good as Slegge anyhow,” said the lad.

There was a little laugh at this, which made the owner of the latter name turn sharply and fiercely upon the nearest boy, who shut his mouth instantly and looked as innocent as a lamb.

“Look here,” said Slegge, turning again to the lad he had addressed, “don’t you be cheeky, sir, or you’ll find yourself walked down behind the tennis-court some morning to have a first breakfast; and you won’t be the first that I have taught his place in this school.”

“Oh,” said the lad quietly, “you mean fighting?”

“Yes,” said Slegge, thrusting out his chin, “I mean fighting. You are new to this place, and you have been coming the stuck-up on the strength of your father being a poor half-pay Company’s colonel. Honourable East India Company indeed! Shabby set of sham soldiers got-up to look like the real.”

The face of the boy he addressed changed colour a little, and he drew a deep breath as he compressed his lips.

“And don’t you look at me like that,” continued Slegge, who was delighted to find a large audience gathering round him to listen while he gave one of the new boys a good setting down, “or you may find that, after I have done with you, you won’t be fit to show your ugly mug in the row of grinning boobies staring over the wall at a twopenny-halfpenny wild-beast show.”

“I don’t want to quarrel,” said the lad quietly.

“Oh, don’t you!” continued Slegge, with a sneering laugh. “Well, perhaps I do, and if I do I shall just give your master one for himself as well.”

“My master,” said the lad staring.

“Yes, your master, the nigger—Howdah, Squashee, or whatever he calls himself. Here! hi! you, Aziz Singh-Song, or whatever your name is, why don’t you dress up and go and get leave from the Doctor to ride the elephant in the procession? Your father is a mahout out there in India, isn’t he?”

The boy he addressed, who had just come up to lay his hand upon the shoulder of Severn, to whisper, “What’s the matter, Glyn?” started on hearing this address, and his dark face, which was about the tint of a young Spaniard’s, whom he resembled greatly in mien, flushed up and the lips closed very tightly, but only to part again and show his glistening white teeth. “My father—” he began.

“Bother! come on,” cried Severn, putting his arm round the other and half-pushing, half-dragging him through the crowd of lads who were clustering round in expectation of a coming set-to.

There was a low murmur as of disgust as the two lads elbowed their way through, whilst Slegge shouted after them.

“Sneaks!” he cried. “Cowards! But I haven’t done with you yet;” and as they passed out through the door into the great playground he drew himself up, giving his head a jerk, and then moistening his hands in a very objectionable way, he gave them a rub together, doubled his fists, and threw himself into a fighting attitude, jerking his head to and fro in the most approved manner; and, bringing forth a roar of delight from the little crowd around him, as quick as lightning he delivered two sharp blows right and left to a couple of unoffending schoolfellows, picking out, though, two who were not likely to retaliate.

“That’ll be it, boys, the pair together—one down and t’other come on. Both together if they like. They want putting in their places. I mean to strike against it.”

“Hit hard then, Sleggy,” cried one of his parasites.

“I will,” was the reply. “There you have it;” and to the last speaker’s disgust he received a sharp blow in the chest which sent him staggering back. “Now, don’t you call me Sleggy again, young man. Next time it will be one in the mouth.—Yes, boys,” he continued, drawing himself up, “I do mean to hit hard, and let the Principal and the masters see that we are not going to have favouritism here. Indian prince, indeed! Yah! who’s he? Why, I could sell him for a ten-pun note, stock and lock and bag and baggage, to Madame Tussaud’s. That’s about all he’s fit for. Dressed up to imitate an English gentleman! Look at him! His clothes don’t fit, even if they are made by a proper tailor.”

“It’s he who doesn’t fit his clothes,” cried one of the circle.

“Well done, Burney!” cried Slegge approvingly. “That’s it. Look at his hands and feet. Bah! I haven’t patience with it. The Doctor ought to be ashamed of himself, taking a nigger like that! Why didn’t he come dressed like a native, instead of disguised as an English lad? And he’s no more like it than chalk’s like cheese. Yes, I say the Doctor ought to be ashamed of himself, bringing a fellow like that into an establishment for the sons of gentlemen; and I’ll tell him so before I have done.”

“Do,” said the lad nearest to him; “only do it when we are all there. I should like to hear you give the Doctor a bit of your mind.”

Slegge turned round upon him sharply. “Do you mean that,” he said, “or is it chaff?”

“Mean it? Of course!” cried the boy hastily.

“Lucky for you, then,” continued Slegge. “I suppose you haven’t forgotten me giving you porridge before breakfast this time last year?”

“Here, what a chap you are! I didn’t mean any harm. But I say, Slegge, old chap, you did scare them off. I wish the Principal wouldn’t have any more new boys. I say, though, you don’t mean to get the wickets pitched this morning, do you?”

“Of course I do,” cried Slegge. “Do you want to go idling and staring over the wall and look at the show?”

“Well, I—I—”

“There, that will do,” cried Slegge. “I know. Just as if there weren’t monkeys enough in the collection without you!”

At this would-be witticism on the part of the tyrant of the school there was a fresh roar of laughter, which made the unfortunate against whom it was directed writhe with annoyance, and hurry off to conciliate his schoolfellow by getting the wickets pitched.

Chapter Two.

Declaration of War.

Meanwhile the two lads, who had retired from the field, strolled off together across the playground down to the pleasant lawn-like level which the Doctor, an old lover of the Surrey game, took a pride in having well kept for the benefit of his pupils, giving them a fair amount of privilege for this way of keeping themselves in health. But to quote his words in one of his social lectures, he said:

“You boys think me a dreadful old tyrant for keeping you slaving away at your classics and mathematics, because you recollect the work that you are often so unwilling to do, while the hours I give you for play quite slip your minds. Now, this is my invariable rule, that you shall do everything well: work hard when it’s work, and play hard when it’s play.”

The two lads, Glyn Severn and his companion of many years, Aziz Singh, a dark English boy in appearance and speech, but maharajah in his own right over a powerful principality in Southern India, strolled right away over the grass to the extreme end of the Doctor’s extensive grounds, chatting together as boys will talk about the incidents of the morning.

“Oh,” cried the Indian lad angrily, “I wish you hadn’t stopped me. I was just ready.”

“Why, what did you want to do, Singhy?” cried the other.

“Fight,” said the boy, with his eyes flashing and his dark brows drawn down close together.

“Oh, you shouldn’t fight directly after breakfast,” said Glyn Severn, laughing good-humouredly.

“Why not?” cried the other fiercely. “I felt just then as if I could kill him.”

“Then I am glad I lugged you away.”

“But you shouldn’t,” cried the young Indian. “You nearly made me hit you.”

“You had better not,” said Glyn, laughing merrily.

“Yes, of course; I know, and I don’t want to.”

“That’s right; and you mustn’t kill people in England because you fall out with them.”

“No, of course not; I know that too. But I don’t like that boy. He keeps on saying nasty things to us, and—and—what do you call it? I know—bullies you, and says insulting things to me. How dare he call me a nigger and say my father was a mahout?”

“The insulting brute!” said Glyn.

“Why should he do it?” cried Singh.

“Oh, it’s plain enough. It’s because he is big and strong, and he wants to pick a quarrel with us.”

“But what for?” cried Singh. “We never did him any harm.”

“Love of conquest, I suppose, so as to make us humble ourselves to him same as the other fellows do. He wants to be cock of the school.”

“Oh—oh!” cried Singh. “It does make me feel so hot. What did he say to me: was I going to ride on the elephant?—Yes. Well, suppose I was. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Not by hundreds,” cried Glyn. “I say, used it not to be grand? Don’t you wish we were going over the plains to-day on the back of old Sultan?”

He pronounced it Sool-tann.

“Ah, yes!” cried Singh, with his eyes flashing now. “I do, I do! instead of being shut up in this old school to be bullied by a boy like that. I should like to knock his head off.”

“No, you wouldn’t. There, don’t think anything more about it. He isn’t worth your notice.”

“No, I suppose not,” said the Indian boy;—“but what makes me so angry is that he despises me, and has treated me ever since we came here as if I were his inferior. It is not the first time he has called me a nigger.—There, I won’t think anything more about it. Tell me, what’s this grand procession to-day? Is it to be like a durbar at home, when all the rajahs and nawabs come together with their elephants and trains?”

“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Glyn, laughing. “Nothing of the kind.”

“Then, why are they making all this fuss? It said on the bills we saw yesterday in the town, ‘Ramball’s Wild-Beast Show. Grand Procession.’”

“I don’t know much about it,” said Glyn; “only here in England in country places they make a great fuss over things like this. I asked Wrench yesterday, and he said that this was a menagerie belonging to a man who lives near and keeps his wild-beasts at a big farm-like place just outside the town.”

“But why a procession?” said Singh impatiently.

“Oh, he takes them all round the country, going from town to town, and they are away for months, and now they are coming back.”

“Menagerie! beast show!” said Singh thoughtfully. “They are all tame, of course?”

“Yes, of course,” said Glyn. “It said lions and tigers and elephants and camels, and a lot more things on the bills. I should like to see them.”

“You English are a wonderful people. My father used to have tigers—three of them—a tiger, a tigress, and a nearly full-grown cub. But they were so fierce he got tired of keeping them, and when the tigress killed one of the keepers, you remember, he asked your father about it, and they settled that it would be best to kill them.”

“Of course, I remember,” said Glyn; “and they had a tiger-hunt, and let one out at a time, and had beaters to drive them out of the nullahs, and shot all three.”

“Yes,” said Singh thoughtfully; “and my father wouldn’t let me go with him on his elephant, because he said it wouldn’t be safe. Then these will all be tame tigers and lions? Well, I shall like to see them all the same, because it will make me feel like being at home once more. I say, when is your father coming down again?”

“Don’t know,” said Glyn quietly. “I did ask in my last weekly letter.”

“Ah!” said the Indian boy with a sigh, “I wish I were you.”

“Well, let’s change,” said Glyn laughing. “You envy me! Why, I ought to envy you.”

“Why?” said Singh, staring.

“Why, because you are a maharajah, a prince; and when you grow old enough you are going back to Dour to rule over your subjects and be one of the biggest pots in Southern India.”

“Well, what of that?” said Singh quietly. “What good will that do me? But of course the Colonel will come too.”

“Ah, that remains to be seen,” said Glyn. “That’ll be years to come, and who knows what will happen before then?”

“I don’t care what happens,” cried Singh hotly. “He’s coming back to India when I go. Why, he told me himself that my father made him my guardian, and that he promised to look after me as long as he lived. He said he promised to be a father to me. It was that day when I got into a passion about something, and made him so cross. But I was very sorry afterwards,” said the boy quietly, “he’s such a good old fellow, and made me like him as much as I did my own father.”

“Well,” said Glyn merrily, “you have always had your share of him. It has made me feel quite jealous sometimes.”

“Jealous! Why?” said Singh wonderingly.

“Because he seemed to like you better than he did me.”

“What a shame!” cried Singh. “Oh, I say, you don’t mean that, do you, Glyn, old chap? Why, you don’t know how fond he is of you.”

“Don’t I?”

“No; you should hear what he says about you sometimes.”

“Says about me? What does he say about me?”

“Oh, perhaps I oughtn’t to tell you,” said Singh, showing his white teeth.

“Yes, do, there’s a good fellow,” cried Glyn, catching the other by the arm.

“Well, he said he should be proud to see me grow up such a boy as you are, and that my father wished me to take you for an example, for he wanted me to become thoroughly English—oh, and a lot more like that.”

Glyn Severn was silent, and soon after, as the two boys turned, they saw a group of their schoolfellows coming down the field laden with bats and stumps, while one carried a couple of iron-shod stakes round which was rolled a stout piece of netting.

“Here,” said Glyn suddenly, “let’s go round the other side of the field. Old Slegge’s along with them, and he’ll be getting up a quarrel again. I don’t want to fight; but if he keeps on aggravating like he did this morning I suppose I shall have to.”

“But if we go now,” said Singh, “it will look as if we are frightened. We seemed to run away before, only you made me come.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter what seems,” cried Severn irritably. “We know we are not frightened, and that’s enough. Come on.”

The two boys began to move slowly away; but they had not gone far before Slegge shouted after them, “Hi, you, sirs! I want you to come and field.”

“Then want will be your master,” said Severn between his teeth.—“Come on, Singh. Don’t look round. Let’s pretend we can’t hear.”

They walked steadily on for a few paces, Severn making-believe to be talking earnestly to his companion, when:

“Do you hear, there, you, sirs? Come here directly. I want you to field!”

“I dare say you do; cheeky great bully!” said Glyn softly. “I shan’t come and field for you. The Doctor did not give us a holiday to-day to come and be your slaves.”

“Hi, there! Are you coming, or am I to come and fetch you?” shouted Slegge, without any effect, and the big lad turned to Burney and gave him an order. The next minute the boy, armed with a stump, came running at full speed across the grass, shouting to the two companions to stop, but without their paying the slightest heed or increasing their pace.

The consequence was that the lad soon overtook them, to cry, rather out of breath, “Did you hear the captain call to you to come and field?”

Singh glanced at Glyn, who gave him a sharp look as he replied, “Yes, I heard him quite plainly.”

The messenger stared with open eyes and mouth, as if it was beyond his comprehension.

“Then, why don’t you come?” he cried.

“Because we are going up to the house,” replied Glyn coolly, “to our dormitory.”

“That you are not,” cried Burney. “The rules say that the fellows are not to go up to their rooms between hours, and you have been here long enough to know that. Now then, no nonsense. Here, you, Singh, you’ve got to come and field while old Slegge practises batting, and Tompkins has got to bowl.”

As the boy spoke in an unpleasant dictatorial way he made a thrust at Singh with the pointed stump he held; but quick as thought and before it was driven home, this third-part of a wicket was wrenched from his hand by Severn and sent flying through the air.

“How dare you!” shouted Burney, and he made a rush at Glyn to collar him and make him prisoner; but before he could reach the offending lad a foot was thrust out by Singh, over which he tripped and fell sprawling upon his face.

“Oh!” he shouted, half-beside himself with rage; and, scrambling up, he made a rush with clenched fists at the two boys, who now stood perfectly still awaiting his onslaught.

It was a thoroughly angry charge, but not a charge home; for Burney stopped some three or four yards short of the distance, with his rage evaporating fast and beginning to feel quite discreet.

For quite a minute the opponents stood gazing fiercely, and then what had threatened to become a cuffing encounter became verbal.

“Look here,” cried Burney, “you two will get it for this. What am I to say to the captain?”

“Tell him to bowl for himself,” said Singh sharply.

“Here! Hi! Burney, bring ’em along!” came from across the field and from between Slegge’s hands. “Tell these beggars they had better not keep me waiting much longer!”

“All right!” shouted back Burney; and then to the two lads, “There, you hear. Come on at once, and as you are new chaps I won’t tell on you. You had better come, or he’ll pay you out by keeping you on bowling so that you can’t go and see the show.”

“Yes,” said Glyn quietly. “Go back and tell him what Singh said.”

“What!” cried Burney, staring with wonder. “Tell the captain he’s to bowl for himself?”

“Yes,” said Glyn coolly, “as long as he likes.—Come along, Singh;” and, throwing his arm over his Indian companion’s shoulder, the two lads fell into military step and marched slowly towards the Doctor’s mansion-like house.

“I am afraid it means a fight, Singh,” said Glyn quietly. “Well, I dare say we can get over it. I am not going to knuckle down to that fellow. Are you?”

“Am I?” cried the boy, flashing a fierce look at his English companion. “What do you think?”

Glyn laughed softly and merrily.

“Shall I tell you?” he said.

“Yes, of course,” cried the Indian boy hotly.

“Well, I think you will.”

“What!”

“When you can’t lift hand or foot, and your eyes are closing up so as you can hardly see.”

“And I won’t give up then!” cried the boy passionately.

“Well, don’t get into a wax about it, old chap,” said Glyn in a dry, slow way. “I don’t suppose you’ll have to, for the big chuckle-headed bully will have to lick me first, and I dare say I can manage to tire him so that you can easily lick him in turn.”

“You are not going to fight him,” cried Singh hotly.

“Yes, I am.”

“You are not. He insulted my dead father. A mahout indeed!”

“So he did mine,” said Glyn. “A shabby half-pay military officer indeed! I’ll make him look shabby before I have done.”

“Now, look here,” cried Singh, “don’t be a beast, Glynny, and make me more angry than I am. I am bad enough as it is.”

“So am I, so don’t you get putting on the Indian tyrant. Recollect you are in England now. This is my job, and I know if father were here he’d say I was to have the first go in. He’s such a big fellow that I believe he’ll lick me easily. But, as I said before, I shall pretty well tire him out, and then you being the reserve, he’ll come at you, and then he’ll find out his mistake. And I say, Singhy, old chap, I do hope that my eyes won’t be so closed that I can’t see. Now then, come up to our room. It’s a holiday, and the rules won’t count to-day. Come on, and we’ll talk it over.”

“But—” began Singh.

“Now, don’t be obstinate. You promised father you’d try and give way to me over English matters. Now, didn’t you?”

“Well,” said the lad hesitatingly, “I suppose I did.”

“Come on, then. You see war’s begun, and we have got to settle our plan of campaign.”

The young Maharajah nodded his head and smiled.

“Yes,” he said, “come up to our room. We ought to dress, oughtn’t we, to see the procession? I say, I don’t know how it is, I always like fighting against any one who tries to bully. I am not sorry that war has begun.”

“Neither am I,” said the English lad quietly, “for things have been very unpleasant ever since we came here, and when we’ve got this over perhaps we shall be at peace.”

Chapter Three.

The Prince’s Regalia.

The bedroom shared by Glyn Severn and Singh was one of a series, small and particularly comfortable, in the new annexe the Doctor had built expressly for lecture-room and dormitories when his establishment began to increase.

The comfortably furnished room just sufficed for two narrow beds and the customary furniture; and as soon as the two lads had entered, Singh hurried to his chest of drawers, unlocked one, took out a second bunch of keys to that he carried in his pocket, and was then crossing to a sea-going portmanteau standing in one corner, when Glyn, who was looking very thoughtful and abstracted, followed, and as Singh knelt down and threw open the travelling-case, laid his hand upon the lad’s shoulder. “What are you going to do?” he said shortly. “Only look out two or three things that there’s not room for in the drawer.”

“What for?”

“Why, to dress for the procession.”

“Stuff and nonsense! You are quite right as you are,” cried Glyn half-mockingly. “You must learn to remember that you are in England, where nobody dresses up except soldiers. Why, what were you going to do?”

“I was going to put on a white suit and belt.”

“Nonsense!” cried Glyn. “This isn’t India, but Devonshire. Why, if you were to come down dressed like that the boys would all laugh at you, and the crowd out in the road shout and cheer.”

“Well, of course,” said Singh; “they’d see I was a prince.”

“Oh, what a rum fellow you are!” cried Glyn, gripping his companion’s shoulders and laughingly shaking him to and fro. “I thought that I had made you understand that now we are over here you were to dress just the same as an English boy. Why, don’t you know that when we had a king in England he used to dress just like any ordinary gentleman, only sometimes he would wear a star on his breast.”

“Oh, but surely,” began Singh, in a disappointed tone, “he must have—”

“Yes, yes, yes; sometimes,” cried Glyn. “I know what you mean. On state occasions, or when he went to review troops, he would wear grand robes or a field-marshal’s uniform.”

“But didn’t he wear his crown?”

“No,” cried Glyn, bursting out laughing. “That’s only put on for a little while when he’s made king.”

“What does he do with it, then, at other times?”

“Nothing,” cried Glyn merrily. “It’s kept shut up in a glass case at the Tower, for people to go and see.”

“England seems a queer place,” said Singh quietly.

“Very,” cried Glyn drily. “You never want those Indian clothes, and you ought to have done as I told you—left them behind.”

“But the Colonel didn’t say so,” replied the boy warmly. “He said that some day he might take me with him to Court. It was when I asked him for the emeralds.”

“What do you mean—the belt?” said Glyn quickly.

“Yes.”

“You never told me that you had got them.”

“No; the Colonel said that I was not to make a fuss about them nor show them to people, but keep them locked up in the case. Here they are,” cried the boy; and, thrusting down one hand, he drew from beneath some folded garments a small flat scarlet morocco case, which he opened by pressing a spring, and drew out from where it lay neatly doubled, a gold-embroidered waistbelt of some soft yellow leather, whose fastening was formed of a gold clasp covered by a large flat emerald, two others of similar shape being arranged so that when the belt was fastened round the waist they lay on either side. It was a magnificent piece of ornamentation, but barbaric, and such as would be worn by an Indian prince.

Apparently it was of great value, for the largest glittering green stone was fully two inches in length and an inch and a half wide, the others being about half the size, and all three engraved with lines of large Arabic characters, so that either stone could have been utilised as a gigantic seal.

“I don’t see why one shouldn’t wear a thing like this,” said Singh. “My father always used to wear it out at home wherever he went, even when he wore nothing else but a long white muslin robe. On grand Court days he would be covered with jewels, and his turban was full of diamonds.”

“Yes,” said Glyn drily and with a half-contemptuous smile upon his lips; “but that was in India, where all the rajahs and princes wear such things.”

“Well,” said the boy proudly, “I am still a maharajah, even if I have come to England to be educated; so why shouldn’t I put on a belt like this on a grand day if I like?”

Glyn took the brilliant belt from his companion’s hand and held it towards the light, inspecting curiously the beautiful gems, which were of a lustrous green marked with flaws.

“Ah,” he said, “it looks nice, and is worth a lot of money I suppose.”

“Of course,” said the young Indian; and he added haughtily, “I shouldn’t wear it if it were not.”

“Well, you can’t wear it,” said Glyn, passing the embroidered leather through his hands and turning it over in the bright sunlight which came through the window.

“But why?” cried Singh, frowning slightly at having his will challenged.

“Well,” said Glyn, “first of all, as I told you, because the boys would laugh at you.”

“They dare not,” cried the boy proudly.

“What!” cried Glyn laughing. “Why, English boys dare do anything. What did Slegge say this morning?”

“Slegge is what you call a blackguard,” cried Singh angrily.

“Well, he isn’t nice certainly,” said Glyn; “but he’d begin at you again directly, and chaff, and say that you ought to ride on the elephant.”

“Well,” said the boy, “and that would be my place if there were a howdah. Of course I shouldn’t ride on the great brute’s neck.”

“Yes, in India; but can’t you recollect that you are still in England?”

“Of course I can,” cried the boy, with flashing eyes; “but I can’t forget that I am a prince.”

“Now, look here,” said Glyn, “what did dad say to you when the Doctor left us with him in the drawing-room? I mean before father went away. Have you forgotten?”

“Of course not. He said, ‘Never mind about being a prince. Be content with the rank of an English gentleman till you go back to your own country.’ And that’s what I am going to do.”

“Well done,” cried Glyn merrily. “Then, now, put this thing away; you don’t want it. But stop a moment. I never had a close look at it before.”

“No; the Colonel told me to keep it locked up and not to go showing it about so as to tempt some budmash to steal it.”

“Well, we haven’t got any budmashes in England,” said Glyn merrily, as he began to inspect the emeralds again and took out his handkerchief to rub off a finger-mark or two and make the gems send off scintillations of sunlight which formed jack-o’-lanterns on the ceiling. “But we have plenty of blackguards who would like to get a chance to carry it off.”

“What, among our schoolfellows?” cried Singh hastily.

“Bah! No! There, put it away. But I should like to know what that writing means.”

“It’s out of the Koran,” said the boy as he took the jewelled belt back reverently and held it up to the light in turn. “It’s very, very old, and means greatness to my family. It is a holy relic, and the Maharajahs of Dour have worn that in turn for hundreds of years.”

“Well, you put it away,” said Glyn; “and I wouldn’t show it to anybody again, nor yet talk about it. I wonder the dad let you have it.”

“Why?” said Singh proudly. “It is mine.”

“Yes, of course; but it is not suited for a boy like you.”

“A boy like me!” cried Singh half—angrily. “Why, I am as old as you.”

“Well, I know that; but my father doesn’t give me emeralds and diamonds to take with me to school. He could, though, if he liked, for he’s got all those beautiful Indian jewels the Maharajah gave him.”

“Yes,” said Singh, “and that diamond—hilted tulwar.”

“Yes, that’s a grand sword,” cried Glyn, with his eyes sparkling. “I should like to have that.”

Singh laughed mockingly.

“Why, you are as bad as I am,” he cried.

“That I am not! Why, if I had it, do you think I should buckle it on to go and see a country wild-beast show?”

“Well, no, I don’t suppose you would,” said Singh quietly, as he gravely replaced the emeralds in their receptacle and curled the belt around them before shutting down the velvet-lined and quilted cover with a loud snap. “But some day, when we have both grown older, and we are back in India—I mean when I am at home in state and you are one of my officers—you will have to get the Colonel to let you wear it then.”

“Ah,” said Glyn, slowly and thoughtfully, “some day; but that’s a long time off. I suppose I shall be a soldier like the dad is, and in your army.”

“Why, of course,” cried Singh. “You will be my greatest general, just the same as your father was when mine was alive. He was always a great general there, though he was only colonel in the Company’s army. There, I suppose you are right. I like to look at that belt, but I won’t show it about; but I say, Glyn, I shall be glad when we get older and have both begun learning to be—no, what do you call it?—not learning—I mean, being taught to be soldiers.”

“Training,” said Glyn.

“Yes, training—that’s it; and we shall go together to that place where your father was, not far from London. You know—the place he used to talk to us about, where he was trained before he came out to India.”

“Addiscombe,” said Glyn quietly, as he stood watching his companion thrust the case back into the bottom of the portmanteau and rearrange the garments he had moved, while his hand lingered for a few moments about a soft white robe, which he covered over with a sigh before closing the lid and turning the key of the great leather case.

“Yes,” he said, “Addiscombe. What stories he used to tell us about the young officers there! What did he call them? I forget.”

“Cadets,” said Glyn thoughtfully.

“That’s it. I wish I didn’t forget so many of those English words; but,” continued the boy, “I liked it best when he told us about the battles out at home, when all the chiefs around were fighting against my father the Maharajah, so as to slay him and divide his possessions. You know, my father has talked about it to me as well—how he was so nearly beaten and weakened, and so many of his bravest officers killed, that it made him apply to the great Company for help, and they sent your father. Oh, what a brave man he was!”

“Who said that?” cried Glyn, flushing up.

“My father the Maharajah. He said so to me many times, and that he was his best and truest friend. Oh yes, I used to like to hear about it all, and he used to tell me that the Colonel would always be my truest friend as well, and that I was to love him and obey him, and always believe that what he told me to do was right. And I always do.”

“Of course you do,” said Glyn flushing. “Yes, Singh, he is some one to be proud of, isn’t he? But I am like you; I don’t much like coming to this school, though the Doctor is very nice and kind to us both.”

“Yes, I like him better than the masters,” said Singh; “but I don’t like the boys, and I don’t think they like me.”

“Oh, wait a bit,” said Glyn. “It’s because everything seems so different to being in India; but, as father says, there is such a lot one ought to learn, and we shall get used to it by-and-by; only, I say, you know what the dad said?”

“You mean about trying to be an English gentle man and leaving the maharajah till I get back home?”

“Yes, that’s it,” cried Glyn eagerly.

“Yes; but it’s hard work, for everything is so different here, and the boys are not like you.”

“Oh yes, they are,” cried Glyn merrily; “just the same. Here, come on; let’s go down and see whether Wrench has put up those forms by the wall. We want to see the show.”

“Yes,” cried Singh. “It puts one in mind of Dour again, and I have been thinking that we don’t get on with the other boys through me.”

“What do you mean with your ‘through me’?” said Glyn.

“Well, I don’t quite know. It’s because I am an Indian, I suppose; and when they talk to me as they do, and bully me, as you call it, it makes my heart feel hot and as if I should like to do something strange. But I am going to try. And look here, Glyn,” said the lad very seriously, “I shall begin at once.”

“Begin what?”

“Trying to make them like me. I shall make friends with that big fellow Slegge, and bear it all, and if he goes on again like he did this morning I have quite made up my mind I won’t fight.”

“Oh,” said Glyn drily. “Well, come on down the grounds now. We shall see.”

Chapter Four.

The Elephant cries “Phoomp!”

Plymborough was out in street and road excepting those who lived on the line of route and had windows that looked down upon the coming procession, which was to be timed to reach the town, after a long march from Duncombe, at noon precisely.

Small things please country people, and there was not much work being done that day. It was an excuse for a holiday, as eagerly seized upon by the townsfolk, old and young, as by the young gentlemen of Dr Bewley’s establishment.

But that was not all. The villages near Plymborough were many, and the people for miles round flocked into the place to see the procession and stop afterwards about the market-place to visit the exhibition of beasts and listen to the band.

The day was gloriously fine, and all promised a famous harvest of sixpences for the great Ramball himself, a man as punctual in his appointments as he was in the feeding of his beasts, this being carried out regularly at certain times, but, unfortunately for the animals, in uncertain quantities dependent upon the supplies.

Dr Bewley’s boys took their places along the forms quite an hour before noon, this punctuality having something to do with getting the best places, as they put it, though—as the forms were in a line under the brick wall, which was low enough with their help for the shortest boy to see over, and the procession would pass close beneath—it was hard to see any difference in the positions, or why the form reserved for the masters was any better than that at the extreme end.

But certainly the masters’ form was considered the best from the fact that it stood first, while the nearest end of the next form was taken up in spite of his declaration by Slegge, whose greatest admirers got as close to him as they could or as he would allow.

“Let’s go and stand with them,” said Singh, as they crossed over to the wall.

“Oh, I don’t know,” replied his companion. “I vote we go right to the other end along with the juniors.”

“Very well,” said Singh with a laugh; “but they’ll say it’s because we’re afraid.”

“Yes,” replied Glyn coolly; “but let them. I don’t think we are.” And leading the way, he made for the last form, which they had all to themselves, and stood there quietly looking down at the crowd below and along the Duncombe road, which was pretty well lined with people standing about or seated in cart or chaise waiting for the coming sight.

The masters were not in such a hurry, and they remained in the house talking together, so that they were not present to see the skylarking and listen to the banter going on, a good deal of which was set going by Slegge, who was in a high state of glee, and scattered a great deal of chaff, to the great delight of his parasites, who eagerly conveyed insulting messages from their chief to the two new pupils at the other end of the line—at least, they bore those that were not too offensive; others that seemed likely to produce some form of resentment from the lads they attacked were sent on by the youngest boys.

All this palled after a time, and a certain amount of whispering beginning close at hand, Slegge asked sharply what the whisperers were talking about, when silence ensued, no one present daring to repeat the remark which Burney had made, which was to the effect that old Slegge had said that he was not going to stoop to see the miserable procession, but all the same he had taken the best place.

The consequence was that Slegge guessed pretty correctly that something was being whispered dealing with him, and he was just growing fiercely insistent and threatening what he would do if somebody did not confess, when the masters came upon the scene and took their places; while directly after there was a loud cheer, for from out of the distance came the faintly heard throbbing of a drum.

Everything else was now forgotten. Eyes and ears were strained, and minutes elapsed before the pulsations caused by the beating of two balls upon the tightly stretched skin began to grow nearer, and Mr Rampson commenced a discussion to fill up the time by throwing quotations from the old Roman authors at his fellow-tutors and the older boys.

It was a favourable moment for calling a drum a tympanum and giving descriptions of the different forms, curves, and lengths of the various trumpets used by the Roman soldiery in their warlike processions, all of which Slegge voted bosh, and intimated his opinion to the next boy that old Rampson had better go to the other end of the forms and pour it out on the two new fellows.

At last, though, the pulsations of the well-belaboured drum came nearer and were mingled with the mournfully plaintive notes of the wind instruments being blown by the band, the performers seated in a tall triumphal car decorated in scarlet and gold, and ornamented by a gilt carving meant to represent the giant anaconda of South America embracing and crushing the twenty bandsmen of Ramball’s show, gentlemen who, by the way, wore a richly worsted-embroidered uniform of scarlet baize, the braid being yellow ochre of the deepest dye.

The carving round the car was either a two-headed anaconda or a combination of two performing an evolution in twists about the musicians, tying them up apparently, from the spectators’ point of view, in horrible knots and giving them a terrible aspect of suffering, the apparent pressure of the serpents’ folds causing their faces and cheeks to swell out in an appalling way, and their eyes to start from their sockets, while their sufferings seemed to produce wails, shrieks, and cries for help or mercy, mingled with groans, as the men worked hard with a perfect battery of old-fashioned key-bugles, supported by ophicleide and bassoon.

Most painful were the shrieking, strident cries produced by a pair of clarinets, and altogether there came from out of the knots of the serpents a hideous chaos of sound, drawn onward by a team of six horses, and received with wild cheers by the crowd, for it was really the new triumphal march freshly down from town, but in which the bandsmen were not perfect as regarded their parts.

“Is that music or the roarings and cries of some of the beasts?” whispered Singh.

There was a burst of laughter from the boys who heard the native remark, which made Singh turn round upon them angrily; but at a touch from Glyn he smiled good-humouredly, and then laughed aloud.

“Well, it was a stupid thing to say,” he cried. “Of course it’s the music.”

“I say, Singh,” burst in Glyn, and he nodded towards the huge drum that was suspended at the back in the highest part of the car, hung, as it were, between the curling tails of the two gilt serpents. “I say,” he cried, “wouldn’t that astonish the people at Dour? What would they say to that for a tom-tom?”

“Ah!” cried Singh, “I’ll buy one like that, and take it back with us when we go home.”

“No, I say, don’t,” cried Glyn. “They make noise enough there as it is.”

“Noise!” echoed Singh. “They don’t call that noise.”

As they were speaking the great six-horse car rumbled slowly by, with the drummer beating hard and the buglers and trombonists blowing their best; while the crowd, taking up the cheer started by the boys, sent it echoing along towards the main street, where, coming slowly along, and stretching as far as eye could reach, there was a long line of caravans, all exceedingly plain and of a uniform yellow colour, with the names of their contents painted on them in black letters.

The place of honour was given to the king of beasts, for the first of the cars bore the word “Lions;” but probably his majesty was asleep, for not so much as a muttering purr on a large scale came from the narrow grating at the top.

Tigers followed; the next car held leopards, each carriage being of the same uniform level, with the black letters; and, coming slowly after them, were about two score, kept a good distance apart so as to lengthen the line as much as possible.

But at first there was nothing else to see, and Singh turned impatiently to his companion, and said: “When does the procession begin?”

“Why, that’s the procession,” said a small boy close to him, taking the answer upon himself. “The wild beasts are inside. Didn’t you know?” And then he proceeded to display his own knowledge. “They draw all the vans up in a square,” he began excitedly, “out there in the home-field behind the ‘King’s Arms,’ and then they open the sides of the vans, which are like great shutters on hinges at the top and bottom, so that when they are opened one shutter falls down and covers the wheels, and the other is pulled up, leaving the side all iron bars. Don’t you see? Then, instead of being vans, they are turned into dens and cages.”

“Is that so?” said Singh quietly.

“Oh, I suppose so,” replied Glyn. “I have never seen one of these affairs; but it seems a very reasonable way for building up a place all dens and cages in very short time.”

“Oh, look here!” cried another of the boys. “Here’s a game! Look at that nigger!”

Singh started as if he had been stung, and was about to turn furiously upon the boy, under the impression that he was the nigger in question; but at the same moment he caught sight of a full-blooded, woolly-headed West Coast African leading a very large camel by a rope, the great ungainly beast mincing and blinking as it gently put down, one after the other, its soft, spongy feet, which seemed to spread out on the gravelled road, while their high-shouldered owner kept on turning its bird-like head from side to side, muttering and whining discontentedly, as if objecting to be seen by such an elongated crowd, and murmuring against being made the one visible object of the show.

The camel was not an attractive creature, for, in addition to its natural peculiarities of shape, it was the time of year for shedding its long hairy coat, and this was hanging in ragged ungainly locks and flakes all along its flanks and about its loping, unhealthy-looking hump.

This was something to look at, and the excited boys shouted, cheered, and gave forth remark after remark such as must have been painful to the dignity of the melancholy-looking beast, which kept on turning its half-closed, plaintive-looking eyes at the noisy groups, wincing and seeming to protest against the unkindly and insulting remarks.

“Oh, I say, isn’t he a beauty?” cried one.

“Yes; it’s just like a four-legged bird,” shouted another.

“That’s right. They’ve caught Sindbad’s roc and clipped his wings.”

“Cut them right off,” said Glyn laughingly, joining in the mirth. “Poor fellow, look how he’s moulting!”

There was a burst of laughter at this, and as it ceased another boy shouted:

“Ought its hump to wobble like that, and hang over all on one side?”

“That isn’t its hump,” cried Burney; “that’s its cistern in which it carries its drinking-water. Don’t you know they can go for days without wanting any more? Can’t you see it’s empty now?”

“Poor camel!” said one of the boys.

“Yes, poor, and no mistake! Why, it’s all in rags,” cried Burney, and the unhappy-looking beast went mincing on, to be followed by another van labelled “Birds.” Then came one labelled ominously and in very large letters, “Serpents;” those next in succession containing antelopes, nylghaus, crocodiles, eagles, rhinoceroses, zebras, monkeys, orang-outangs, chimpanzees, rib-nosed baboons, and so on, and so on, cage after cage, den after den, a procession of so many painted yellow vans drawn by very unsatisfactory-looking horses, till, as the last one came into sight far on the right, it was observed by the boys as they stood leaning their elbows on the wall that there was something special being kept for the finale, for the crowd was closing in behind and coming on surrounding this last van.

“Oh, I shall be so glad when it’s all over,” said Singh. “I would have said let’s go away ever so long ago, only the Doctor might think it disagreeable after he had given us leave to see.”

“Yes, it would have looked bad,” replied Glyn. “It seems to me such a shame,” he continued, “getting us all here to see a procession of wild beasts, and all we have seen is a camel.”

“But don’t you see—” began Singh.

“Of course; I said so. I have seen a camel. But if the man let the people see all his wild beasts they wouldn’t pay to go into his show.”

“Oh,” cried Singh, “that’s it. I never thought of that. Of course. But what are the people all crowding up for behind that last van?”

“Because it’s the end,” said the small boy who had spoken before.

“No; but there’s something they can see, for they are all pressing close up, and the boys are stooping down to look underneath.”

“Yes, and there’s a man with a whip trying to keep them back.”

That was all plain enough to view as the great van, drawn by four stout cart-horses, came nearer, with the whip-armed carter who walked by their side varying his position to cross round by the back, making-believe to use his whip and keep the boys from getting too close.

“Well, they can see something,” said Glyn, as the great vehicle came nearly abreast; and as it did the lad gripped his companion by the shoulder.

“Look, look!” he cried. “My word, it is queer!”

“What is?” said Singh excitedly.

“Two pairs of giants’ trousers walking underneath the van. There, can’t you see? Oh, isn’t it comic. And they don’t fit.”

“Nonsense,” cried Singh excitedly. “It’s a big elephant underneath there, and he’s so heavy he has broken through the bottom of the wagon.”

It certainly gave a stranger that impression; but the young Indian was not right. It was only the showman’s ingenious device to convey his huge attraction from town to town unseen save just so much as would whet the spectator’s curiosity and make him wish to see more.

“Dear me,” said a rich, unctuous voice just behind the lads; and the boys started round at the familiar tones, to see the benignant-looking Doctor blinking through his gold-rimmed spectacles and commenting upon the spectacle for the benefit of his younger pupils. “You see, my dear lads,” he began, “a monstrous animal like that must weigh tons, and would be too heavy for the horses to—”

The Doctor’s words were drowned by the roar of laughter that arose from behind the wall, for Glyn’s comment had been taken up quickly, and ran from end to end of the line, with the result that, like a chorus dominating their laughter, the boys joined in one insane shout of:

“Trousers! trousers!”

The next moment it was over the wall and running through the crowd, who caught it up and began to yell out the name of the familiar object of attire, staid elderly men holding their sides and laughing, boys shrieking with delight and pointing under the van at the two pairs of huge pillar-like legs with the loose skin hanging about them like some specimen of giant frieze, till, as the van moved on, the driver grew frantic and began to smack his whip; while, to add to the tumult, there arose from within a peculiar hoarse trumpeting roar that can only be put into print by the words: Phoomp! phoomp! phoomp!

“Ha!” cried Singh excitedly, and he gripped at Glyn’s arm so sharply that he made him wince. “Hark at him! Hark at him!” he whispered hoarsely

in the boy’s ear. “The jungle! the jungle! Why, it must be a big bull elephant. Oh, we must go and see him to-night!”

Singh saw him the next minute; for, startled by the terrific roar behind them, and probably knowing well the power of the utterer, the four draught horses began to suffer from panic. One began to rear and plunge, and before the driver, who was close to the hind wheels, could force his way through the crowd and seize its rein, it made a dash for the sidewalk farthest from the Doctor’s wall. Like gregarious beasts, its companions went with it; the front of the van was wrenched round and the off fore-wheel ascended the path, while at the same moment, as the furious trumpeting continued, there was a crash, one side of the van was heaved up as if by an internal earthquake, and the next moment, amidst the noise of splintering wood, the plunging of horses, and the elephant’s deafening roar, the great yellow vehicle lay over on its side, and the monstrous beast, fully ten feet high, stood panting and trumpeting with uplifted trunk by the side of the ruins, glaring round as if seeking which enemy to charge.

Chapter Five.

An Al-Fresco Lunch.

There were plenty of those whom the great beast looked upon as foes lying prostrate, for with yells of dismay the crowd dashed off helter-skelter, trampling each other down in their efforts to escape, clearing the way as rapidly as they could; but the only object that offered itself for attack was one of the big van horses, which had swung round in the alarm, to stand right in the elephant’s way.

And now, flapping its ears, giving its miserable little tail a twist in the air, and uttering a pig-like squeak, the elephant charged, catching the horse in the ribs and knocking it over on to its side; and then, without stopping to trample upon the poor animal, the monster indulged in a peculiar caper resembling a triumphant war-dance, a movement which but for the suggestion of danger would have been comical in the extreme. Then, stopping short as if to make a survey of its position with its piercing eyes, the elephant looked at the ruined van, then at the villa residences opposite the Doctor’s great mansion, then at the blank wall (which seemed to puzzle it, with what looked like a palisade of boys’ heads), and next up the road.

At last, turning sharply round to point with uplifted trunk down the road in the direction from which it had come, it went off in its curious shuffling shamble as if in pursuit of the flying crowd; while, now in a state of the greatest excitement, about a score of the wild-beast van-drivers, headed by the man who had the elephant in charge, cracking his whip and shouting for it to come back, started in pursuit.

The Doctor’s pupils, evidently feeling that they were safe behind the wall, for the elephant displayed no intention of using his trunk to pick their heads as if they were gigantic cherries, all stood fast, most probably too much startled to stir; and having an excellent view of this unexpected episode in the procession, had the satisfaction of seeing the principal actor trotting away the whole length of the playground wall, his hind-quarters looking more than ever like an enormous pair of ill-made, ill-fitting trousers.

“Will he catch them—overtake any of them?” cried Glyn, as the elephant passed the spot where he and Singh were watching the proceedings, the latter with his dark eyes glittering and nostrils quivering, as the whole business brought back something he had once seen in his native state.

But as he spoke the loud shouting of the frightened crowd tearing away down the road suddenly ceased, as those nearest became conscious of the fact that their pursuit by the great beast had ceased.

Soon after passing the end of the Doctor’s wall, the elephant, now fully at liberty, found itself by the tall, well-clipped mingled hawthorn-and-privet hedge that enclosed the lawn-like, verdant cricket-field, at the far side of which there was a grand row of old elms which brought back to the escaped animal memories of Indian forests and pendant boughs covered with fresh green leaves that could be torn down and eaten; and, stopping short in the rapid pace which it had pursued, swinging its massive head from side to side, it once more turned itself “half-right,” as if upon a pivot, stared at the tall green hedge for a few moments, and then, curling its trunk right backwards over its neck, it uttered another trumpeting note which was no longer angry, but sounded cracked and partook of the nature of a squeak. Then it did not charge the hedge, but just walked through it; and as soon as its great circular feet began to feel the soft, yielding grass into which they sank, for the ground was moist, the great brute began to twitch its tail in the most absurd way, squeak with delight, and indulge in the most clumsily ridiculous gambol ever executed by monster ten feet high.

It was for all the world such a dance, magnified, as a fat, chubby little Shetland pony would display when, freed from bit, bridle, or halter, it was turned out to grass. And now, as the elephant began careering right across the cricket-field in the direction of the row of elms, there was a shout of dismay from the row occupying the forms; and, headed by Mr Morris, a retreat was made to a place of safety, that being represented by the doors opening on to the playground—Mr Morris, the mathematical master, charged as he was with his long study of Euclid, evidently considering it to be his duty for the benefit of his pupils to describe a straight line.

But he was soon distanced by the boys, whose wind was much better. The last, as if he considered it his duty to protect the rear, was the Doctor himself, looking exceedingly red in the face and breathing very hard. But, truth to tell, he—not being either a general, admiral, or even captain of a vessel of war—was not influenced by any brave intention to leave the field or vessel only after the last of his men. The Doctor’s proceedings were caused by inability to keep up.

But he was not the last. The sight of an elephant cantering across country, or in its customary shuffling gait, was nothing new to Singh and Glyn. Experience gained in more than one hunt, and in a land where these mammoth-like creatures are beasts of burden, as well as perhaps a feeling that if they did happen to be pursued youth and activity would enable them to get out of the brute’s way, caused the two boys to stand fast alone upon the last form, thoroughly enjoying the acts of the performer, and wondering what he would do next.

“Oh, Glyn,” cried Singh, clapping his hands as hard as he could, “and I was grumbling! Why, this is a procession! I haven’t seen anything like this since we left home.”

“No,” panted Glyn, who was as excited as his companion. “Why, it’s like old Rajah Jamjar, as we used to call him, on the rampage. Here come the men,” he continued.—“Hi! I say, the Doctor won’t like you breaking through his hedge,” he shouted, though his words were not heard.—“He’s broken a way for them, though.”

“Here,” shouted Singh, with his hands to his mouth, “you mustn’t go after that elephant with whips. He’s raging, and if you go near he’ll turn upon you perhaps, and kill you.”

But the men could not hear his words, and, each with his big carter’s whip, they followed slowly across the field, unheeded by the elephant, and evidently without the slightest intention of overtaking the fugitive.

The great brute turned neither to the right nor left, but stopped as soon as he reached the row of elms, beyond which were the garden and grounds of the most important resident in Plymborough, a very wealthy retired merchant, who took great pride in his estate, and whose orchard annually displayed a vast abundance of red and gold temptations of the kind beloved by boys in other counties as well as sunny Devon.

It was pleasant and shady beneath the elms, and a faintly heard grunt of satisfaction came to the two boys’ ears as they saw the great fugitive reach up, twist its indiarubber-like trunk, and gather together a bunch of twigs, which it snapped off, and then, reversing its elastic organ, stood tucking them into its peculiarly moist mouth.

“Oh, he’s quiet and tame enough,” said Glyn.

“No, he isn’t,” cried Singh; “he’s in a fury.”

“But it’s a regular tame one,” said Glyn. “I dare say they might walk up and drive it in now. I’ll go and help them if you will.”

“Well,” said Singh, slowly and thoughtfully, “I don’t know. It’s a strange elephant; he’s been scared, and I saw as he passed that he was in a temper; but I dare say we know as much about elephants as they do.”

“Yes, let’s go.”

But as they were speaking, and the elephant stood refreshing itself with another bunch of green leaves, it appeared to catch sight of the group of drivers, who, whip-armed, had now stopped together to consult in the middle of the field, where they were being joined by a fat, chuffy-looking little man, who was hurrying to them, hat in one hand, yellow silk pocket-handkerchief in the other, with which he kept on dabbing his very smooth and shiny white bald head.

The elephant was evidently watching, and had recognised this white shiny head, for he raised his trunk and let fall the twigs, blew a defiant blast upon his natural trumpet, and, wheeling round once more, did not charge, but made a crashing sound as he walked right through the park-palings which divided the two estates, where beneath the trees a green hedge would not grow.

As the elephant disappeared in the next field, only a glimpse being obtained of it through the one panel of the split oak fence, every one seemed to recover his departed courage. The men, now joined by the bald-headed personage, who was really the proprietor of the great show, began to follow the fugitive to the boundary of the Doctor’s grounds.

The two boys sprang off the form and ran to join them, while away to the right, bodies began to appear from the Doctor’s premises where heads only had been seen; and chief amongst these was Mr Morris, the mathematical master, who, influenced by his conscience, and reminded of the fact that he had gone on drawing that line very straight till he reached the shelter of the house, an act which he felt must have rather lowered his reputation for bravery amongst the boys, now came out a few yards into the playground; and, as the boys began to gather round him, he moved on again a little way, making a point of keeping himself nearest to the danger, if any danger there were, but not going so far as to preclude an easy retreat.

Now, in naval law, during an action there is a tradition that the safest place for a sailor, and where he is least likely to be hit, is the hole through which a cannon-ball or shell has crashed into the ship. Possibly, being a mathematician, Mr Morris may have calculated the possibilities against the elephant that had marched through that piece of fence coming back through it again. And so it was that as the Doctor’s grounds were clear, the enemy having departed, he followed farther and farther out into the cricket-field, and then headed a cluster of the first-form boys who, unknown to the Doctor, were making for the broken fence. The fact that they soon saw the elephant’s pursuers pass through, and with them the bald-headed man, with their fellow-pupils Glyn and Singh on each side leading, had doubtless something to do with the forward movement.

Slegge, too, was the biggest and loudest there. He was looking very white, almost as white as Ramball’s bald head, but he said it was all a “jolly lark;” and then for want of something else to say to express how he was enjoying himself, he made the same remark again, and then laughed aloud. But it was the same sort of laugh as would be uttered by the victim of a practical joke who has suddenly sat down upon a tin-tack or a pin.

Mr Morris, too, grew braver and braver, and he smiled a ghastly smile which rather distorted his features as he addressed his pupils.

“Come along, boys,” he said. “This is a holiday indeed. We are going to search for the unknown quantity. An elephant hunt in the Doctor’s grounds! It is quite a novelty.”

“But it isn’t in the Doctor’s grounds now, sir,” said Burney.

This was meant to be facetious; but it turned Mr Morris’s smile into a glare, and brought down upon the boy’s head a rebuke from Slegge.

“Here, don’t you be so fast, youngster,” cried the latter, with the wisdom of a sage in his stern look. “Just remember whom you are talking to, if you please.” Then, to curry favour with the master, “I beg your pardon, Mr Morris, would this be an Indian or an African elephant?”

“Well, Mr Slegge,” said the mathematical master, with his ghastly smile coming back, “now if this were a question of a surd in a compound equation I should be happy to tell you; but as soon as the captive is taken again, and the ‘lark,’ as you call it, is over, I should recommend you to ask Mr Rampson. He’ll tell you, and give you some information as well respecting the Carthaginian army and the elephants with their towers that they marched against the Romans. My mathematical studies take up all my brain-power, and I never venture upon another master’s ground. By the way, who are those boys that we just saw walk through that fence with the show-people? Trespassers, of course. We don’t want any of the town boys here. No violence, mind; but I think you might give them a lesson and turn them out.”

“But they were the two new pupils, sir.”

“What! Severn and the Prince?”

“Yes, sir,” came in chorus.

“Dear me! The Doctor would be very angry if he knew. He strongly objects to his young gentlemen making friends with strangers.”

“Yes, sir,” said Burney; “and they have gone out of bounds.”

“Will you keep your mouth shut?” whispered Slegge; and, dropping a pace behind the master, he clenched and held up one fist very close to Burney’s nose as if it were a curiosity that the boy might like to see.

“Ah, well,” said Mr Morris, “perhaps they thought that it would be the safest place behind the elephant’s keepers. These tamed animals have a great dread of the whip.”

All was beautifully calm now out in the field. The grass seemed greener than ever. There was an excited crowd in the main road by the damaged hedge, and quite a cluster of pupils, masters, and servants up by the house; but Morris and his little party were alone, and all seemed so safe that they grew thoroughly brave, and quite nonchalantly edged their way on towards the broken panel which looked temptingly clear.

All was still, and there was no suggestion of danger, while as they slowly went close up there was no sound of voice. It was perfectly evident that the elephant must have been followed far away, and had probably gone right on through the neighbouring grounds and made his way somewhere out at the back.

They were approaching diagonally, and as they came very near to the opening a curious electric kind of feeling such as is called by old women “the creeps,” manifested itself in what doctors term the “lumbar regions” of every one’s back.

But they were all very brave, and Morris suddenly became conscious of the fact that the boys were all looking at him in a very questioning way, so he could not help feeling that there were drawbacks to being the leader of a party when there is possible danger somewhere ahead, and it is impossible for the sake of one’s credit to retreat.

This is especially the case in connection with dogs that are supposed to be mad and have to be driven away, or in haunted rooms, and the walking of ghosts and other vapours of that kind which a puff of the wind of common-sense would always blow away.

Somehow or other, Morris began to talk very loudly to his young companions as he screwed his courage up to the sticking-point, feeling as he did that at all hazards he must go right up to that opening and just look through. And with this intent, followed not quite closely by the boys, he went so near that he had but to take one more step to be able to look through into the next field; in fact, he was in the act of stretching out his hand to lay it upon one of the big oaken splints that hung from its copper nail, when there was a sharp report as if a pistol had been fired just on the other side, and in an instant the whole party were in retreat.

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Morris. At least it was supposed to be a laugh; but the sounds were very peculiar, and he looked strangely white as he shouted, “Stop, boys, stop! What are you afraid of? It was only one of those carter fellows who cracked his whip.—Well, my man,” he continued, in a husky voice that did not seem like his own, to one of the van-drivers who now appeared in the opening, “have you caught the elephant?”

As the man replied the boys began to collect again from their ignominious flight, and it was observable that they were all laughing at one another in an accusatory manner, each feeling full of contempt for the pusillanimous behaviour of the others, while the looks of Morris might have given the whole party a conscious sting.

But there was the van-driver answering as the boys clustered hurriedly up.

“No, sir, and I’ve had enough of it,” said the man. “It aren’t my business. I’m monkeys, I am; and got enough to do to keep they mischievous imps in their cage. I don’t hold with elephants; they are too big for me, and I know that chap of old.”

“Indeed!” said Morris, eager to cover his last retreat by drawing the man into conversation.

“Yes, sir, he’s a treacherous beggar. Pretends to be fond of a man, and gets him up against a wall or the side of a tree, and then plays pussy cat.”

“Plays what?” cried Slegge.

“Pussy cat, sir. You know: rubs hisself up again’ a man same as a kitten does against your leg. But it aren’t the same, because if the pore chap don’t dodge him he gets rubbed out like a nought on the slate.”

“Dear me! Extraordinary!” said Morris. “But—er—er—where is the fugitive beast now?”

“Ah, you may well call him a fugity beast, sir. I don’t quite know what it means; but that’s a good name for him, and he desarves it. Oh, he’s over yonder now, right in the middle of yon orchard, and nobody durst go near him. Every time any one makes a start he begins to roosh, and then goes back in amongst the trees, and when I come away I never see anything like it in my life. It was bushels then.”

“Bushels—bushels, my man?”

“Yes, sir, he was a-picking the apples with that trunk of his, and tucking them in as fast as ever they’d go. A beast! he’ll fill hisself before he’s done. He won’t leave off now he’s got the chance, and he’ll kill anybody who goes nigh him. You see, the master keeps him pretty short to tame him down and keep him from going on the rampage. It’s all a mistake having a thing like that in a show. You take my word for it, sir. If you goes in for a mennar-gerry you take to monkeys. They don’t take nothing to keep, for the public feeds them on nuts and buns, and if it warn’t for their catching cold and going on the sick-list they’d be profit every ounce.”

“Er—thank you, my man,” said Morris haughtily; “but I don’t think it probable that I shall venture upon a peripatetic zoo—eh, young gentlemen?”

“Oh no, sir!” came in chorus.

“Can we see the huge pachyderm from here?”

“Packing apples, sir? No, no, don’t you alter that there, sir. You called him fugity beast just now, and you can’t beat that.—No, you can’t see him. He’s in there among them apple-trees.”

“Why, he’s got into old Bunton’s orchard, sir,” cried Slegge, and he stepped forward to the opening. “Yes, you can’t see the elephant, sir, but you can see the men all round. I think they are tying him up to a tree, sir.”

“Yes, that’s likely,” said the man grimly. “I dare say they’ve all got a bit of string in their pockets as will just hold him.”

“Er—do you think we could go up a little closer, my man, without the young gentlemen getting into danger?” said Morris, in the full expectation that he would be told it would be dangerous in the extreme.

“Go closer, sir? Yes, of course you can. He won’t hurt none of you so long as you don’t try to take his apples away. If yer did I shouldn’t like to be you.”

“Let’s go, then, sir,” cried Burney eagerly, and the desire seemed to be growing in the other boys’ breasts.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Morris; “that is, if you will promise not to go too close.”

“Oh, we won’t go too close, sir,” cried Slegge warmly, and he looked as if he were speaking the truth.

The result was that the master, trying very hard to carry off his disinclination to go with the remark, “We don’t often have such an opportunity as this, boys,” led the way across the park-like field of the Doctor’s neighbour towards an extensive orchard, in which, nearly hidden by the trees, the escaped monster was having his banquet of apples, and turning a deaf ear, or rather two deaf ears of the largest size, to all orders to come out.

Chapter Six.

Glyn and Singh to the Rescue.

As the party from the school drew nearer they could hear the occasional crack of a whip and a loud order given in a rather highly pitched tone to the beast, bidding him come out.

Then followed the snapping of twigs and a peculiarly dull grumbling sound as if the elephant were muttering his objections to the orders of his master, the bald-headed man, who still held his hat in one hand, his yellow handkerchief in the other, and dabbed the big white billiard-ball-like expanse as if he felt that it was very warm work.

Then there was a crunch, crunch, crunch, as if pippins were being reduced to pulp, and more twigs were heard to snap.

“Let him hear the whip again, Jem,” shouted Mr Ramball.

“Oh, he won’t come for that, sir,” growled the man addressed; but he made the long cart-whip he carried crack loudly three times in obedience to the order; and as the fresh party drew as near to the orchard as they cared to go, after all had given a furtive glance round for a way to escape, the low grumbling muttering grew louder; while as the animal moved right into sight so did those who were watching him, and Slegge and his companions saw Glyn and Singh approach.

There was another movement on the part of the elephant, whose towering form came through the thickly growing orchard trees to one whose burden was of a deep rich-red, and here it stood bowing its head up and down, and slowly shaking it from side to side, while the trunk swung and turned and turned and swung here and there, till its owner had selected the fruit most pleasing to its little pig-like eye, when with serpent-like motion it rose in the air, and the end curled round the selected fruit, which was lowered and tucked out of sight on the instant.

“Now, look here, my lads,” cried the proprietor of the menagerie to his men, “I can’t have you all standing here gaping like a set of idiots as if you had never seen the brute before. Go in round behind him with your whips and drive him out.”

There was a murmur of grumbles from the men, that seemed to be echoed by the elephant, which went on swinging its head up and down as if it were balanced on a spring. But no one stirred.

“Do you hear me?” cried the proprietor, his highly pitched voice growing quite shrill. “Here, I shall have no end of damages to pay for what he’s doing. They’ll be putting it in the lawyers’ hands, and they’ll be charging me a shilling for every apple he eats.—Eh! what’s that? Not safe?”

“No; he’s got one of his nasty fits o’ temper on,” said the driver of the great van which had come to grief.

“Tchah! Nonsense! You are a coward, Jem.”

“Mebbe I am,” grumbled the man; “but, coward or no, he knocked me flat over on my back, and once is quite enough for one day.”

“Yah!” shouted his master. “You are ready enough to come on Saturday night for your pay; but if I want anything a little extra done, where am I?—Here, give me the whip.” And he snatched it from the man’s hand and walked towards the great beast, half-hidden among the trees.

“Say, you boys,” growled the driver, “if I was you I’d just be ready to run. You’ve only just got to dodge him. Stop and make sure which way he’s going, and then get in among the trees.”

“Yes, quick: in amongst the trees,” cried Morris, and he set the example.

“Nay,” growled the man. “Not yet. Wait and see first which way he means to go.”

Morris set the example of running in another direction, followed by his boys and by the voice of the driver.

“Why, that’s worse,” he cried. “That’s about the way he’d go.”

“Then which—what—why— Here, what are you two laughing at?” This to Glyn, who was stamping about with delight.

“Oh, I couldn’t help it, sir,” cried the boy, and before he could say more there was another loud crack of the whip as Ramball made his way round behind his rebellious beast and shouted at him to “Come out of that.”

He had hardly uttered the words when there was a crashing and breaking of wood as if the elephant were making its way quickly through the trees in obedience to the command; and as the sounds ceased, the menagerie proprietor came staggering out without his handkerchief or whip, to stand in the middle of his men looking half-stunned and confused.

“Did he ketch you, sir?” said the driver, with a laugh of satisfaction in his twinkling eyes.

“Brought down his trunk across my back,” panted the proprietor. “My word, he can hit hard!”

“Yes, sir; I know. Knocked me flat on my back, he did.”

“Knocked me on my face,” cried the proprietor angrily. “Look here,” he said, “is there any skin off my nose? I fell against a tree.”

“Took a little bit of the bark off,” grumbled the man, who did not seem at all sympathetic. “Hadn’t you better let him fill hisself full, sir, and have a rest? He’ll come easy, perhaps, then.”

“Do you want me to stand still here and see a devouring elephant go on eating till he ruins me? We must all join together and drive him out.”

“But he’ll drive us out, sir,” said the man in a tone full of remonstrance.

“Then we must try again. I am not going to be beaten by a beast like that.”

“Look here, my man,” said Morris, “hadn’t you better tie him up to one of the trees and leave him till to-morrow? They do this sort of thing abroad, I hear, by tying the elephant’s legs or ankles to the trunks of trees.”

“What!” shouted Ramball. “Why, he’d take them all up by the roots and go cantering through the town, doing no end of mischief, with them hanging to his legs. Think I want to have to pay for the trees as well as the apples?”

“Then—er—lasso him and lead him home.”

“Lass which, sir?”

“Lasso him, my man, with ropes.”

“Why, he ain’t a wild ostrich of the desert, sir. Look at him!—Here, one on yer run off and fetch the longest cart-rope. This ’ere gentleman would like to have a try.”

The boys were roaring with laughter by this time, the mathematical master’s parasites joining in as heartily as Glyn and Singh.

“Don’t be rude, fellow,” said Morris.

“Don’t be rude?” cried Ramball, who was fuming with disappointment and rage. “Rude yourself. If you give me much more of your sarce I’ll set the animile at you.”

As this was proceeding, the elephant, whose taste for apples had been satiated, came slowly out into the open, to stand bending and bowing his massive head, which he swayed slowly from side to side and blinked and flapped his ears, as he watched the assembly with his little reddish eyes in a way which made the mathematical master grip Slegge by the arm.

“I am getting uneasy,” he whispered, “about you boys. Don’t run, but follow me slowly back to the fence. Tell the other boys, and we will go at once.”

“Can’t you coax him out, sir?” said Glyn, as he approached the proprietor.

“No, I can’t coax him out,” cried Ramball snappishly; “but you mind your own business, I know mine. I have had enough of you putting your spoons in my porridge.”

“Here, Mr Severn! Mr Singh!” shouted the mathematical master. “This way! We are going back to the college.” But he did not go far.

“But I want to see the elephant brought out, sir,” replied Singh. “He oughtn’t to be left like this. He may do mischief.”

“Oh, now you’ve begun, have you?” yelped the proprietor, whose voice in his anger had gradually reached the soprano. “I suppose you would like to have a try?”

“Oh, I don’t want to interfere,” replied Singh coolly. “Where do you want the elephant to go?”

“Where do I want him to go? Why, home of course, before he does any more mischief. I wish he was dead; that I do! And he shall be too. Here, Jem, run back to Number One—here’s the key—and bring my rifle and the powder-flask and bullet-bag. I’m sick of him. He’ll be killing somebody before he’s done—a beast!—Tigers is angels to him, sir,” he continued appealingly to Morris. “He’s the wickedest elephant I ever see, and I’ve spent more on him in damages than I paid for him at first; but he’s played his last prank, and if I can’t drive him I can shoot.—’Member that lion, my lads, as killed the gentleman’s hoss?”

“Ay, ay, ay!” came in a low murmured growl.

“Got out, sir,” continued the proprietor, waving one hand about oratorically, and dabbing his bald head with his hand. “Here, some of you, where’s my yellow handkerchy? Oh, I know; I left it in that there apple-wood, and I’d lay sixpence, he’s picked it up and swallowed it because it’s yellow and he thinks it’s the skin of a big orange. Got out of his cage, he did, sir, that there lion—been fiddling all night, I suppose, at the bolts and bars—and we followed him up to where he got in the loose-box of a gentleman’s stable; and there was the poor horse down—a beauty he was—and that there lion—Arena his name was—lying on him with his face flattened out and teeth buried in the poor hoss’s throat, so that when I got to the stable door there he was, all eyes and whiskers, and growling at you like thunder. I knowed what my work was, sir,” continued the proprietor, addressing his conversation entirely to Morris, “and you can ask my men, sir; they was there.”

“Ay, ay, ay!” was growled.

“It warn’t the time for showing no white feathers when a lion’s got his monkey up like that. I brought my gun with me—fine old flint-lock rifle it is, and I got it now—and the next minute that there dead horse had got a dead lion lying beside him. But I sold his skin to a gent for a ten-pun note, to have it stuffed, and it’s in his front hall now, near Lungpuddle, in Lancashire.—Well, you, are you going to fetch that there rifle, or am I to fetch it myself?” he yelled at his man.

“Oh, I wouldn’t shoot him, guv’nor,” growled the man.

“What’s it got to do with you?” almost shrieked his master.

“Oh, I aren’t going to lose nothing, guv’nor, only a bit of a chum. He’s knocked me about a bit, and tried to squeeze all the wind out of me two or three times; but that was only his fun. I shouldn’t like to see him hurt.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to go and fetch him out of that there urcherd?” cried his master.

“He aren’t in,” said the man sturdily; “and if he were, no, thank you, to-day. To-morrow morning perhaps I shouldn’t mind; but I do say that it’d be a burning shame to shoot the finest elephant there is in England. The one at the Slogical Gardens in London is nothing to him, and you know, master, that that’s the truth.”

“You fetch my rifle.”

“I wouldn’t talk quite so loud, guv’nor, if I was you,” replied the man. “Elephants is what they call ’telligent beasts, and you don’t know but what that there annymile is a-hearing every word you say and only waiting till I’m gone to make a roosh, knock you down, and do his war-dance all over you.”

“Hah! The same as they trample the life out of the tigers at home.”

Every one turned sharply upon the speaker, whose voice sounded clear and ringing, as he stood there frowning angrily at the elephant’s master.

“Bah! Stuff!” cried the man in his high-pitched voice. “I have read anecdotes about animals, and I know all them stories by heart. They look as if they could; but them beasts can’t think, and the stories are all lies.—You be off and fetch that rifle before I send somebody else; and look here, Jem, if you don’t obey my orders you take a fortnight’s notice to quit from next Saturday, when you are paid.”

“Then you are going to shoot the elephant,” cried Glyn, “because you don’t know how to manage him?”

“What!” half-shrieked the man. “Here, I say, where do you go to school? Things are coming to a pretty pass when boys like you begin teaching me, who’ve been nigh forty year in the wild-beast trade! What next?”

“Glyn Severn’s right,” said Singh sternly.

“Here’s another of them!” cried the man, looking round from face to face.

“Quite right,” continued Singh. “Why, the poorest coolie in my father’s dominions would manage one of the noble beasts far better.”

“Ho!” said Ramball sarcastically. “Then perhaps the biggest swell out of my father’s dominions would like to show me how to do it himself.”

“I don’t know that I can,” said Singh quietly; “but I dare say the poor beast would obey me if I tried.”

“Oh, pray try, then, sir.—Only, look here, governor,” continued the man, addressing Morris, who was not far off, “I don’t know whether he’s your son or your scholar—I wash my hands of it. I warn you; he’s a vicious beast, and I aren’t a-going to pay no damages if my young cock-a-hoop comes to grief.”

Singh laughed a curious, disdainful laugh. Then he took a step in the direction of the elephant, but Glyn caught him by the arm.

“Don’t do that, Glyn,” said the boy quietly. “I don’t believe he would hurt me. Come with me if you like. You know what he’ll do if he’s going to be savage, and you run one way and I’ll run the other.”

This was in a low voice, unheard by any one but him for whom it was intended; and the next moment, amidst a profound hush, the two boys moved towards the elephant, who was swaying his head slowly from side to side, and looking “ugly,” as the man Jem afterwards said.

Then out of the silence, urged by a sense of duty, Morris cried in a harsh, cracked, emotional voice, not in the least like his own, “Severn! Prince! Come back! What are you going to do?”

His last words came as if he were half-choked, and then like the rest he stood gazing, with a strange clammy moisture gathering in his hands and upon his brow, for as the two boys drew near, the elephant suddenly raised its head, threw up its trunk, and uttered a shrill trumpeting sound.

As the defiant cry ceased, Singh stepped forward in advance of his companion, and shouted a few words in Hindustani.

The elephant lowered its trunk and stood staring at the boy, as if wonderingly, before coming slowly forward in its heavy, ponderous way, crashing down the green herbage beneath the orchard trees, and its great grey bulk parting the twigs of a tree that stood alone, and beneath whose shade the monster stopped.

The boys stood still now, and Singh uttered a short, sharp order in Hindustani once more.

Instantly, but in a slow, ponderous way, the great beast slowly subsided, kneeling in the long grass, while Singh went up quite close, with the animal watching him sharply the while, and laying out its trunk partly towards him, so that when close up the boy planted one of his feet in the wrinkling folds

of the monstrous nose, caught hold of the huge flapping ear beside him, climbed quickly up, and the next minute was astride the tremendous neck and uttering another command in the Indian tongue. The result was that the elephant raised its ears slightly so that Singh could nestle his legs beneath; and as he settled himself in position a merry smile spread about his lips.

“Come on, Glyn,” he cried. “It’s all right. Take my hand.”

Glyn obeyed, and as if fully accustomed to the act, he rapidly climbed up and settled himself behind his companion.

There was another sharp order, and the great beast slowly heaved himself up, muttering thunder, and grumbling the while.

“Well, I am blessed!” cried the proprietor. “You, Jem, did you ever see such a game as this?”

The man addressed did not say a word, but gave one thigh a tremendous slap, while the elephant stretched out his trunk towards them, took a step or two in their direction, and uttered a squeal.

Singh shouted out a few words angrily, and the long serpent-like trunk hung pendent once again, with the tip curled up inward so that it should not brush the ground.

“Now then,” cried Singh to the proprietor, “where do you want him to go?”

“Right up into the show-field, squire,” cried the man excitedly. “Think you can take him?”

“Try,” replied the boy with a scornful laugh; “but I ought to have an ankus. But never mind, I can do it with words.—I say, Glyn,” he continued, speaking over his left shoulder, “we are going to ride in the procession after all. If the Colonel knew, what would he say?”

“But—but—” cried Morris. “My dear boys, pray, pray come down! Think of the consequences to yourselves—and what will be said to me.”

“Oh, it’s all right, Mr Morris,” cried Glyn confidently; “we must take the elephant now. Singh and I have ridden on elephants hundreds of times, though we have never acted the parts of mahouts.—There, go on, Mr What’s-your-name, and Singh here will make him carry us back right to where you wish.”

There was no further opposition. In fact, it would have been a bold man who would have dared to offer any; but the proprietor came as close as he thought prudent, panting hard, as the huge beast swept along in its stately stride.

“I beg your pardons, young gents—beg your pardons! Honour bright, sirs, I didn’t know. Oh, thank you; thank you kindly. You are saving me a hundred pounds at least, and if you’d like a nice silver watch apiece, or a monkey, or a parrot, only say the word, and you shall have the pick of the collection. And look here, gentlemen, I’ll give you both perpetual passes to my show.”

“Thank you! thank you!” Glyn shouted back. “We will come and see it;” while Singh sat as statuesque as a native mahout, and an imaginative Anglo-Indian would have forgotten his Eton costume and pictured him in white cotton and muslin turban; while, as they neared the great elm-trees where the gap showed grimly in the fence and the boughs hung low, the amateur driver uttered a warning cry in Hindustani, with the result that his great steed threw up its trunk, twined it round a pendent branch that was in their way, snapped it off, and trampled it under foot.

Chapter Seven.

“Salaam, Maharajah!”

The menagerie proprietor hurriedly led the way straight across the cricket-field; for, full of excitement, he was eager to get right away with the depredating animal before the owner of the damaged fence and orchard came upon the scene.

“I can talk to him better when I get on my own ground,” he said to himself; and, making straight for the gap in the Doctor’s hedge, the elephant, in obedience to word after word from his mahout, followed with long, swinging strides.

There was a crowd outside the hedge in the road, and they would have been across the field long before; but, in obedience to an order from the Doctor, Wrench was on guard and kept them back. His rather difficult task ceased as the elephant drew near, for the crowd scattered to avoid the monster, and the Doctor’s man gave way too, the only difference being that the little mob drew away outside the hedge while the man made way in; for, seeing who were mounted on the great animal’s neck, he ran towards the house to meet the Doctor, who, followed by the other masters, was now coming toward the gap with a small opera-glass in his hand.

“Here, Joseph,” he cried breathlessly, “am I right? Are those two of my pupils?”

“Yes, sir; a-riding striddling on the elephant’s neck.”

“Dangerous! Madness! So undignified too! What will people think? Run and tell them to get off directly and come to me.”

The man hurriedly retraced his steps; but before he could reach the gap in the hedge the elephant strode through and out into the road, and the Doctor and his aides hurried back into the house to reach one of the front windows just as, headed by the proprietor and followed by a crowd, the elephant strode by, the two boys taking off their caps to salute those at the window.

The Doctor turned with a look of blank amazement upon his countenance, to stare for a few moments at the classical and French masters, who had followed him in.

“Gentlemen,” he exclaimed angrily, “did you ever see such extraordinary behaviour in your lives? Oh, this must be stopped!”

But it was not stopped, for the elephant was striding away along the main street of the town, with a crowd regathering as they saw that the powerful monster seemed to be well under control; while the boys, now thoroughly enjoying their exciting ride, needed no persuasion from Ramball to keep their places and take their mount right up to the show-field, where several of the yellow vans were already in place, their drivers having commenced the formation of the oblong square which was to form the show.

Here, shortly afterwards, the elephant stopped of its own volition close to a great iron picket which was being driven into the soft earth, and by which a truss of hay had been placed ready for its refection.

Here, as the elephant stood still, it paid no heed to a couple of Ramball’s men, who in obedience to their master’s orders set to work to fasten a strong chain to the monster’s leg and attach it to the iron picket.

For, evidently satisfied with its fruity lunch, and calmed down from the excitement brought on by the accident, possibly too from a certain feeling of satisfaction at hearing the native tongue of some old mahout ringing in its great ears, the huge beast now began to take matters according to its old routine. It commenced by gathering up portions of the hay, which it loosened with its trunk, sniffing at it audibly, and then beginning to scatter it about, the boys making no attempt to quit their lofty perch.

“Here, one of you, bring a bucket of water,” cried Ramball. “He ain’t hungry now. Don’t let him waste that hay. Have you fastened the chain?”

Without waiting for the men to answer, the menagerie proprietor examined the great fetters himself.

“Look sharp,” he shouted; “quick with that water before he spoils all the hay.”

One man had hurried off to the pump with a couple of empty buckets, while the others seized upon the truss which the elephant was disturbing, but only to drop it directly, for the captive just lightly waved its trunk right and left, and the men were sent flying in different directions.

Phoompf snorted the tyrant, and immediately went on picking up and scattering the hay all around it, thickly covering the grass.

“Well, I suppose we had better get down now, hadn’t we?” cried Glyn.

“Yes, sir—no, sir. Just wait a little bit, please,” cried Ramball. “You’re a-keeping of him quiet; only I don’t want this ’ere to be made a free gratus exhibition for everybody to see. It’s a cutting off my profits. Hi, there, some of you! why don’t you shut them gates?” he shouted to certain of his men who were driving in the latter half of the line of yellow vans.

“Can’t get the rest in if we do, sir,” came back.

“No, of course they can’t,” grunted their master, looking up at the two lads. “Things is going awkward to-day, and no mistake.—Oh, here comes the water,” he continued, speaking now to Singh. “I dare say that will cool him down. Just say a word to him, sir, and tell him to drink.”

“Tell the men to put the buckets down before him,” replied Singh; and as the water-bearer drew near the elephant evidently scented the refreshing fluid, and uttered a sonorous snort.

Directly after, as the man nervously set down the brimming buckets, anxiously watching the waving trunk the while, and leaping away as he saw it coming towards him, the tip of the great hose-like organ was thrust into the first vessel, there was a low sound of suction as many quarts were drawn up, and then the end was curled under, thrust right back into the huge creature’s mouth, and then there was a loud squirting sound like a fire-engine beginning to play to put out the animal’s burning thirst.

Back went the trunk into the bucket again, the curving inward followed for a second discharge, there was repetition, till in a very brief space the first bucket was empty, and then, with a disdainful swing of the trunk, the vessel was sent flying, and the emptying of the second commenced, to be ended by the satiated beast picking it up to hold it on high as if to drain out the last drops, and then begin to swing it to and fro as if to hurl it at its master.

“Hah–h–h–h–ah!” cried Singh, and the great creature ceased swinging the bucket to and fro, and dropped it on the hay.

“Come, Singh, we have had enough of this,” cried Glyn impatiently. “Let’s get back, or we shall be having the Doctor sending to see what has become of us.”

“Don’t you be afraid about that, young gentlemen,” cried Ramball. “I’ll speak up for you both.”

“Thank you,” said Glyn drily; “but you’ve done with us now.”

“Done with you, young gentlemen! I only wish you’d stop and join my troupe. I’ll make it right and pleasant for you, and be glad too. Pay you better, too, than any one else would when you leave school. Why, bless your heart, you—the dark one I’m talking to—if you like to come I’ll spend any amount up to a hundred pounds for getting you a thorough Indian corstume all muslin and gold, and a turban with jewels in it—imitations, of course, it wouldn’t run to real, but the best as is to be had—with a plume of feathers too, ready for you to ride in procession same as you did to-day. What do you say?”

“Yes, Singh,” cried Glyn laughing, as he sat close behind his companion, and catching him by the shoulders he began to shake him to and fro. “There’s an offer for you. What do you say?”

“I am going to get down,” said Singh with a haughty curve to his lip. “Well, I won’t tell him I’m not an English boy.” Then sharply resuming his native tongue, he uttered an order which made the great beast kneel down in the hay with its trunk stretched straight out before it, and raising its ears a little, ready for its two riders to climb down forwards and spring off.

“Ha!” cried Singh, as he approached close to the elephant and planted his right foot upon the upper portion of its trunk. “I should rather like to have you,” he said, speaking softly, so that his words only reached his companion’s ear. “You are the first in England to show me that you know what I am.”

“But you can’t have him, Singh,” said Glyn laughing. “No more elephants till we get back to Dour, and that won’t be for years to come.”

“No,” said the boy sadly; “that will not be for years to come.—Huh!” he cried to the elephant, as he removed his foot and drew back. “You’re a fine old beast after all.”

The monster rose at his command, and stood blinking at him and swinging his trunk to and fro.

“Mind, sir!” shouted Ramball, who had been looking on anxiously. “Don’t you trust him. He’s brewing mischief. He always is when he looks quiet like that; and the way he can knock you over with that trunk—my word!”

“Oh, he’s not going to knock me over with his trunk,” said Singh, smiling; and, uttering a few words in Hindustani, he stood close up to the elephant and reached one hand up to its great ear and laid the other upon its trunk.

“Salaam, Maharajah!” he cried, and the animal threw up its head, curled up its trunk, and trumpeted loudly, before going down upon its knees before the lad.

“Good! Up again!” cried Singh in Hindustani, and added a few more words, the result of which was that the monster stood calmly by its great picket-peg, making its chain jingle as it began slowly swaying its head from side to side again.

“Well done, sir!” cried Ramball. “Thank you, sir. You’ll shake hands with me, won’t you?”

“Oh yes,” said Singh quietly; “I’ll shake hands,” and he extended his own.

“You are a gentleman and no mistake,” cried the man. “I say, think that offer of mine over. I’ll make it worth your while. I will, honour bright!”

Singh shook his head gravely, and there was a mocking smile upon his lip.

“No, no, thank you,” he said. “I am going back to school, and some day back to India; but I should like to come and see you and the elephant again.”

“Of course you would, sir, and come you shall,” cried Ramball. “Perpetual passes! You don’t want no pass. Just you show your face here, both of you, whenever you like, and bring as many of your schoolmates with you too, and you will be as welcome as the flowers of May. Look here, young gentlemen, I am going to keep the show open here for three days, and then we go off to my farm three miles out of the town to lay up for a bit of rest and do repairs, and get the animals into condition, before we take the road again. You come and see me there, and pick out what you’d like to have, monkeys or parrots, as I said. I don’t offer you anything big, because I don’t suppose you could keep it at school; but I have got some of the amusingest little monkeys you ever see, and a parrot as can talk—when he likes, mind you,” continued the man, laying a fat finger against his nose, “and that ain’t always. But when he is in the temper for it he can say anything, and you wouldn’t know but what it was a human being.—Going, gentlemen?”

“Yes, we are going now,” said Singh.

“Yes, it’s time we were off,” said Glyn; “but I say, Mr Ramball, what about that rifle?”

“Rifle? Oh, you mean my gun?”

“Yes,” said Glyn. “You don’t mean to shoot that grand beast?”

“Shoot him, sir? Not me. It put me in such a temper and made me say that. But, young gentlemen, do think over what I said. Why, if you joined my troupe, I’m blessed if I wouldn’t buy another as big as him, and then you’d have a elephant apiece.”

Chapter Eight.

Doctor Bewley changes Sides.

As the two lads reached the main street, chatting over their adventure, something occurred which made Glyn turn his head sharply, and as he did so a small boy shouted, “Hooray!”

It was the little spark applied to the touch-hole of a cannon, and a loud roar followed.

“Here, let’s go back,” cried Singh. “The Rajah’s broken loose again.”

“No, no,” cried Glyn. “They are shouting at us.”

“What for? What have we done?”

“I suppose it’s because we rode the elephant. Here, come along; let’s turn down here and get round by the fields.”

The young Indian generally gave way to his English friend; and, obeying directly, they hurried down the first turning, but in vain. A crowd of men and boys were after them, cheering loudly, and this crowd was snowball-like in the way in which the farther it rolled the more it grew. So that in spite of all their efforts they were literally hunted right up to the Doctor’s gates, where they arrived hot and breathless to find a larger crowd than before which had gathered to satisfy themselves with the rather empty view of the damaged hedge, the big footmarks, and a wheelwright and some of Ramball’s men getting the great bottomless elephant-van into condition for dragging to the show-field.

As soon as the two boys came in sight there was a rush made for them, and amidst deafening cheering and vain efforts to hoist them shoulder-high and carry them into the playground, they managed to reach this resort at last, and join their schoolfellows in keeping out the excited mob, some of whom, the youngest of course, began to decorate the brick wall with their persons like so many living statues. And then to the two lads’ disgust, the whole school, with the exception of Slegge, and half-a-dozen of his party who wanted to join in the ovation but did not dare in the presence of their tyrant, began to cheer them as loudly as the boys without. Several of the younger juniors began to idolise them in a very juvenile way by hanging on to them, slapping their backs, and shaking hands.

Altogether it was a strange mingling of the pleasant and unpleasant, the former predominating with Singh, who for the first time since he had joined the school found himself thoroughly liked.

Slegge and his following stood aloof, the latter listening to the former’s sneering remarks, some of which reached Glyn and made him feel hot; while just in the midst of the loudest cheering, Wrench the man-servant made his appearance, followed by a big tom-cat which passed most of its time in the pantry rubbing its head against Wrench’s legs while he was cleaning the plate or washing tea-cups, probably in gratitude for past favours. When it was a kitten some young Plymborough roughs had hurled it into the little river, and were making of it what they termed a “cockshy,” pelting it with stones, fortunately ineffectually, and trying to beat it under water, when the Doctor’s footman, who was crossing the bridge, saw what was going on and made an unexpected charge upon the young ruffians, effectually scattering them. One tripped and fell headlong into the river, out of which he crawled as thoroughly wet as the unhappy little kitten, which Wrench received as it swam ashore, rolled up in his handkerchief and took home to his pantry, where it grew rapidly, waxed fat, and was never so happy as when it could find a chance to rub its head against its master.

Hard on Wrench’s heels came also one Sam Grigg, page-boy, who on particular occasions wore a livery jacket with three rows of plated pill-like buttons, but who was now in the fatigue-dress of rolled-up shirt sleeves and a very dirty apron, while his left-hand was occupied by a boot, the right by a blacking-brush, which seemed to have been applied several times to an itching nose, his chin, and one side of his face, rather accounting for the plural nickname given him by the boys of “Day & Martin.”

These had come out to join in the ovation, Wrench adding several proud encomiums, one of which was, “My eyes, gentlemen! You did do it fine!”

The Doctor’s footman had hardly uttered these words when there was the loud ringing of a bell.

“The Doctor!” he ejaculated, and he hurried into the house, his exit from the playground being followed by a fresh burst of cheering and a peculiar triumphant dance on the part of the page, accompanied by the waving of boot and blacking-brush, till, in his disgust, Slegge made a rush at him from behind, grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, and ran him rapidly to the boot-house, sent him flying in with a savage kick, and banged the door after him.

“A blackguard!” he cried haughtily. “That’s why our boots are not half cleaned. How dare he! The dirty, contemptible scrub! The Doctor ought to be told of this.”

Slegge stood sniffing and snorting and glaring round fiercely at the worshippers of the two heroes of the hour, who stood flushed and worried, ready to beat a retreat to the dormitory.

But an end was put to their reception in a very unexpected way, for Wrench suddenly made his appearance, looking very solemn as he hurried off to the two lads with, “The Doctor wants to see you both, sirs, directly, in the study.”

Slegge’s face lit up with a malicious grin.

“Haw, haw!” he laughed. “Three cheers, boys! The Doctor wants to see them both in his study. Impositions! Hooray! Cheer, you little beggars! Why don’t you cheer?”

The adjuration fell flat, for not a boy uttered a sound, save one who exclaimed, “Oh, what a shame!” and then went off to the cricket-field, trying hard, poor little fellow! to suppress the natural desire to cry out and sob, for Slegge had “fetched him,” as he termed it, a sounding slap upon the cheek, which echoed in the silence and cut the boy’s lips against a sharp white tooth.

“What’s the Doctor want?” whispered Singh, as they followed the footman into the house.

“A wigging, I’m afraid, gentlemen,” said the man who heard his words. “But don’t you mind. You write out your lines and do your imposition like men. It was fine! What you did this morning has made every one think no end of you, and it will never be forgotten so long as this ’ere’s a school.”

A tap of the knuckles, which sounded hollow and strange, for they had reached the study-door.

“Come in!” in the Doctor’s deepest and most severe tones, and the next moment the two boys were standing separated from their preceptor by the large study-table, while he sat back in his revolving chair with his finger-tips joined, frowning at them severely from beneath his up-pushed gold-rimmed spectacles.

There was silence for quite a minute, and it was not the Doctor who spoke first, but Glyn, who, under the impression that the Doctor was deep in thought and had forgotten their presence, ventured to say, “I beg your pardon, sir; you sent for us,” and put an end to the mental debate as to the form in which the subject should be approached.

“Yes, sir,” said the Doctor sternly. “I have sent for you both, as it is better that any lapse from the strict rules of my establishment should be dealt with immediately; not that I wish to be too severe, for you are both new pupils and strange to the regulations of a high-class school in England. You gather, of course, that I am alluding to your very undignified conduct in the sight of all your fellow-pupils.”

“Yes, sir,” said Glyn; “about our riding the elephant?”

“Of course. It was disgraceful. You, to whom I should have looked for the conduct and demeanour of a gentleman, being the son of an eminent officer in the army, behaving like some little common street-boy, and leading your fellow-pupil, in whom from his ignorance of English customs and etiquette such a lapse might be excused. It was only the other day that your father the Colonel, sir, told me that you would set an example to the young Prince, and here I find you directly snatching at the opportunity to behave as you have done.”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” cried Glyn, in a voice full of protest, “it was—”

“Silence, sir!—Yes, what is it?” cried the Doctor angrily, for there was a quick tap at the door, and the footman appeared. “Have I not told you, sir, that when I am engaged like this I am not to be interrupted?—Eh? Who?”

“That showman, sir, wants to see you, sir.”

“That showman?” cried the Doctor angrily. “What showman? What about?”

“Come about the damages, sir; the broken fences. He said he wouldn’t keep you a moment, sir, if you would see him.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor, cooling down. “Yes, the damages, the torn-up hedge and the broken fence. A most annoying affair. You can sit down, gentlemen, while I dismiss this man.—Where is he, Wrench?”

“In the hall, sir; on the mat.”

“Ho!” said the Doctor, rising; and he marched slowly out, leaving the boys looking at one another and then at the busts of the great scholars of Greece and Rome ranged at intervals upon the cornices of the bookcases that covered the study-walls.

Neither felt disposed to speak, for an inner door stood ajar, and from the other side came the faintly heard scratching noise of a pen.

And so in silence some ten minutes or so passed before the Doctor came in, looking very different of aspect and ready to sign to the boys to sit down again as they rose at his entrance.

“A most unpleasant business, young gentlemen,” he began, as he seated himself; and sinking back he removed his spectacles, folded them, and used them to tap his knee; “but in justice to you I must hasten to say that this man’s coming has given a very different complexion to the affair. A very strange, uncultured personage, but most straightforward and honest. I like the way in which he has offered to bear all the expense of repairing the fences. He speaks most highly of your gallantry—er—er—er—pluck, he called it—most objectionable phrase!—in dealing with this savage beast. H’m, yes, what did he say—tackling it. But I was not aware that you had engaged in roping or harnessing the animal. He, however, talked of your both managing the monster wonderfully, and—er—it had never occurred to me before that you had both had some experience of elephants in India.”

“Oh yes, sir,” cried Glyn eagerly. “Singh has elephants of his own, and we often used to go out together through the forest upon one as big as that.”

“Ha! Very interesting,” cried the Doctor. “I was under the impression that your proceedings this morning were—that is—in fact, that you both did it just for the sake of a ride.”

“Oh no, sir,” cried Glyn. “The men were all afraid of the elephant, and Singh spoke to it in Hindustani, and—”

“Yes, yes, exactly,” said the Doctor, smiling. “It was very brave, and—really, I cannot conceal the fact that I felt alarmed myself when the great furious beast came charging across the grounds. Yes, he speaks highly in praise of your conduct, and really, young gentlemen, I—I must apologise for having spoken to you as I did while suffering from a misunderstanding. Er—hum!” continued the Doctor didactically, and he rose slowly to stand waving the gold spectacles through the air, “it is the duty of every gentleman when he finds that he is in the wrong to acknowledge the fact with dignity and good grace. My dear young pupils, I hope I have properly expressed myself towards you both; and let me add that this will be a lesson to us, to me, against speaking in undue haste, and to you both as—er—

“Well, gentlemen,” he continued with a smile, “I don’t think I need detain you longer from your studies—I mean—er—from your pleasurable pursuits, as this is a holiday, and we will consider the incident as closed.”

Smiling benignantly, the Doctor marched slowly round the end of the table again, shook hands warmly with both his pupils, and then showed them to the door.

“Stop! By the way, a little idea has occurred to me. This is a day of relaxation. Mr Singh—er—it is an understood thing, as you know, that your title is to be in abeyance while you are my pupil; for, as I explained to your guardian, Colonel Severn, it would be better that there should be no invidious distinctions during your scholastic career—I should be glad if you and your friend the Colonel’s son would dine with me this evening. No dinner-party, but just to meet your three preceptors and a Mr—dear me, what was his name? Really, gentlemen, I am so deeply immersed in my studies that names escape me in a most provoking manner. A gentleman resident in the town here—a Sanskrit scholar, and friend of Mr Morris. Dear me! What was his name? There was something familiar about it, and I made a mental note, memoria technica, to be sure, yes—what was it? I remember the word perfectly now. ‘Beer.’ Dear me, how strange! And it doesn’t help me a bit. Really, gentlemen, I am afraid this memoria technica is a mistake. How, by any possibility could the name of the ordinary beverage of the working classes have anything to do with the professor’s name? Professor Beer—Professor Ale—Professor Porter—Stout? Dear me, how strange! Ah, of course—the great brewers, Barclay—Professor Barclay! At half-past six.”

“Thank you, sir. We will come,” said Singh, smiling.

“Precisely,” said the Doctor, and he stood smiling in the doorway as the boys passed out.

They were at the end of the hall passage when the door closed, and Wrench shot out from somewhere like a Jack from its box.

“Aren’t caught it very bad, gentlemen, have you?” he cried eagerly.

“Oh no, Wrench,” said Glyn, smiling.

“Thought not, sir, for the Doctor had got a twinkle in his eye when he’d done with the wild-beast man. It would have been hard if you’d caught it after what you did. Pst! There’s the study-bell.” And the man hurried away, leaving the culprits to stroll out together into the playground, where they found fully half the boys waiting to hear the result of their interview with the Doctor, Slegge and his courtiers hurrying up first.

“Well, beast-tamers,” he cried sneeringly, “how many lines of Latin have you got to do?” And he grinned offensively at them both.

“When?” said Glyn coolly.

“When? Why, now, at once.”

“We haven’t got any lines of Latin to do,” said Singh quietly. “To-day is a holiday.”

“For us,” cried Slegge; “but I know the Doctor. You have both got a pretty stiff dose to do, my fine fellows, and I wish you joy.”

“Thank you,” said Glyn; “but you are all in the wrong.”

“Wrong? Then what did the Doctor say to you?”

“Oh,” said Glyn, in a most imperturbable manner, fighting hard the while, though, to keep his countenance as he realised the strength of the shot he was about to send at his malicious persecutor, “he asked Singh and me to come and meet the masters and dine with him to-night.”

Chapter Nine.

The New Professor.

“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.

Chapter Ten.

“English Gentlemen don’t fight like that.”

The next morning the men sent by Ramball, the proprietor of the world-famed menagerie, were busy at work first thing repairing hedge and fence; and everything was so well done, and such prompt payment made for the estimated damages to the neighbouring orchard, that when a petition-like appeal for patronage was made by Ramball, the owner of the orchard attended with wife, family, and friends; and the Doctor gave permission to the whole school to be present, being moved also, as he told the lads in a brief address, to go himself with the masters and support a very worthy enterprise for the diffusion of natural history throughout the country. The visits were paid to the great yellow-walled prison, and Ramball, in his best blue coat, the one with the basket-work treble-gilt buttons, attended on the Doctor himself to explain the peculiarities of the beasts and give their history in his own fashion.

This was peculiar, and did not in any way resemble a zoological lecture. Still, it was an improvement upon the wild-beast showman of the old-fashioned fairs, and he did not inform his listeners that the tiger was eight feet six inches long from the tip of his nose to the end of his tail, and exactly eight feet four inches long from the tip of his tail to the end of his nose. Neither did he impart knowledge, like another of his craft, and tell people that the boa-constrictor was so-called because he constructed such pleasing images with his serpentine form. But he did inform them that the monstrous reptile he possessed—one which, by the way, was only nine feet long—was always furnished in the cold weather with sawdust into which he could burrow, on account of the peculiarity always practised by creatures of its kind of swallowing its own blankets; and he did deliver an eulogy on his big black bear, and encourage the young gentlemen to furnish it with buns; but he did not confess to the fact that it was his most profitable animal, from the circumstance of his letting it out on hire for so many months in the year to a hairdresser in Bloomsbury, who used, according to his advertisements, to kill it regularly once a week and exhibit it in butcherly fashion hung up and spread open outside his shop, so that passers-by might see its tremendous state of fatness: “Another fat bear killed this morning.”

It was in the days when the British public were intense believers in bear’s grease as the producer of

hair, and no one troubled himself or herself to investigate the precise configuration of the exhibited animal and compare it when hung up, decapitated, and shorn of its feet, with the ordinary well-fatted domestic pig, albeit the illusion was kept up by its being possible to see through the gratings outside the shop-window Ramball’s black bear still “all alive-o,” parading and snuffling up and down in the area.

Glyn and Singh were there, of course, and responded to Ramball’s almost obsequious advances with good-humoured tolerance; but while he was with the Doctor the boys took notes together, laughing with a good deal of contempt at the poor miserable specimens—the tiger and two leopards—compared with those they had seen in their native beauty and grace of outline in the forests of Dour.

They met one friend there, though, chained by a leg to the massive iron peg, as he stood swinging his great head from side to side, and stretching out his enormous trunk for the contributions supplied by the boys.

They were welcomed most effusively by the great beast, which recognised them at once, and it was only by its attention being taken up by its keeper, the man who had driven the bottomless van, that the boys got away without being followed by their new friend, which had manifested a disposition to drag the peg out of the ground and follow them like a dog.

It was while the Doctor was delivering an impromptu disquisition upon the peculiarities of the one-horned rhinoceros and the slight resemblance given by the folds of its monstrous hide to the shell of a turtle, that Ramball followed the two boys and made signs to them to come to the other end of the great van-walled booth, when he asked them if they had considered his proposition.

“I never made such an offer before in my life, young gents. It’s a good ’un. Don’t you let it slide.”

But the boys were saved the pain of telling the man that it was quite out of the question by the coming up of the guest at the Doctor’s dinner, Professor Barclay, who was effusively civil to Glyn, and fastened himself upon Singh to talk of Indian matters and language till the visit came to an end.

Just before leaving, Ramball came up to them again, but he had to speak in the presence of the Doctor.

“I only wanted to ask the young gents, sir,” he said, “if they had made their choice of the two little somethings to keep in remembrance of what they did over the elephant.”

“Two little somethings?” said the Doctor loftily. “I am quite sure, sir, that my pupils do not wish to take any two little somethings as a gift from you.”

“No, no, sir, not what you call gifts; but just a couple of little trifles as I asked them to pick out.”

“Oh, no, no,” cried the Doctor. “It is not necessary, my man, and we have no room for such things in my establishment.”

“Ah, excuse me, sir,” said the man eagerly; “you are thinking I mean something big and awkward; but a nice little monkey, sir, or a bird?”

“Monkeys don’t want monkeys,” said Slegge, in a whisper to Burney, just loud enough for Glyn to hear, and making him turn sharply upon the speaker.

“Have a baboon, Severn,” said Slegge maliciously, for he met the boy’s flashing eyes.

“What for?” said Glyn coolly.

“Oh, I don’t know,” continued Slegge, after a glance at the boys around, who burst into a low series of titters. “I would if I were you. There’s a nice brotherly look about that one in the cage, and he hasn’t got a tail.”

“Mr Severn,” said the Doctor, “come here. I want you to tell Mr Ramball that you do not need any recompense for the services you have performed. Mr Singh has already spoken.”

“Yes, sir, I’ll come,” replied the boy quickly, and he did as requested, fully conscious the while that Slegge was saying something disparaging to the nearest boys, and that the Professor had moved up behind Singh and was talking to him again.

“Do you like this Professor Barclay?” said Glyn as they were walking back towards the school side by side.

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s very pleasant to talk to, of course, for he knows so much about Indian things.”

“Oh,” said Glyn thoughtfully, for his companion’s words sounded reasonable.

“But what was that fellow saying to you?” asked Singh. “He was grinning at you about something. Oh, I should like to do something to him. That nasty look of his always makes me feel hot.”

“He wants to get up a quarrel,” replied Glyn.

“Well, let him, and the sooner the better. He’s always insulting me.”

“Then let’s insult him,” said Glyn.

“Yes,” cried Singh eagerly. “What shall we do? Tell him we won’t accept a baboon because one’s enough in the school?”

“No; treat him with contempt,” said Glyn coldly. “We are not going to be dragged into a fight so as to give him a chance to play the bully and knock us about.”

“But let’s knock him about,” cried Singh, “and show him that we can bully too.”

“Won’t do,” said Glyn slowly. “He’s too big and strong.”

“Yes, he’s big and strong; but we shall be two to one.”

“Ah, you have a lot to learn, Singhy. English gentlemen don’t fight like that.”

Chapter Eleven.

The Cutting of the Cock’s Comb.

There was a smart brush at the school a few days later, which resulted in the cutting of Slegge’s comb. The Doctor was seated at his study-table, with the open French window letting in the fresh morning breeze and giving him a view, when he raised his eyes from his book, right across the cricket-field to the clump of elms, when there was a tap at the door, responded to by the customary “Come in!” and Mr Rampson entered.

“Ah, good-morning, Mr Rampson,” said the Doctor suavely.

“Good-morning, sir. Could you give me a few minutes?”

“Certainly, Mr Rampson,” replied the Doctor, sitting back. “Have you something to report?”

“Well, no, sir, not exactly, but—er, but er—I er—thought I should like to ask you if I had given you satisfaction in connection with my pupils.”

“Yes, Mr Rampson,” said the Doctor, raising his eyebrows; “but why—oh, I see, you want to speak to me and tell me that you have had a more lucrative offer.”

“Oh no, sir; I am quite satisfied here, where I have been so long, but—”

“Well, Mr Rampson, what is it? You wish me to increase your stipend?”

“No, sir, I do not; but I don’t want to suddenly find myself supplanted by another master through the machinations of a brother-teacher.”

“Don’t speak angrily, Mr Rampson. Pray, who has been trying to supplant you?”

“Well, sir, I am a blunt man, and I have come to speak out. I am afraid that Morris—why, I know not—has been introducing this Professor Barclay to you to try to get him in my post.”

“Indeed, Mr Rampson!” said the Doctor, with a smile. “Well, then, let me set you at your ease at once. Morris did not introduce this gentleman, for he came to me with an introduction from one of the professors at Addiscombe, a gentleman I do not know from Adam. I find that he has been for a few months a resident in the town here, where he is carrying on some study. Morris seems to know him a little, and tells me that he has visited him two or three times at his apartments. I questioned him as to who the man was, and his antecedents, which seemed to be satisfactory. I did so after his presenting his letter of introduction and some testimonials. I thought that it would be only civil to ask him to dinner and explain to him that it was perfectly hopeless for him to expect anything from me; and, in short, one feels a little sympathetic towards a cultivated gentleman who is seeking to obtain an appointment in a none-too-well-paid profession. So now you see, my dear Mr Rampson, that you have not the slightest cause for uneasiness.”

“Dr Bewley,” cried Rampson excitedly, “you don’t know how you have relieved my mind!”

“I am very glad, Rampson; and let me take this opportunity of telling you that— Bless my heart! what is the meaning of this?”

“Of what, sir?” cried Rampson, startled by the speaker’s earnestness.

“Look over yonder beyond the elms. Scandalous! Disgraceful! And after all that I have said! I will not have it, Rampson.”

“But, sir, I—”

“Don’t you see that there’s a fight going on? Just as if it were a common school. Come with me at once.”

The Doctor set aside his stately march and hurried out through the open window, bare-headed, and closely followed by his assistant.

There, through the elms and close up to the grey park-fence beyond, the whole school seemed to have assembled, and plainly enough at intervals there was the quick movement of two contending figures, while the clustering boys around heaved and swayed as they watched the encounter, quite forgetful in their excitement of the possibility of their being seen from the house.

Dr Bewley did not run, but went nearer to it than he had been since he wrote DD at the end of his name and gave up cricket; while before they were half-way across the cricket-field Mr Rampson was emitting puffs suggesting that the motive-power by which he moved was connected with a modern utilisation of steam.

So intent was the little scholastic crowd beyond the row of tree-trunks which with the park-palings beyond formed the arena, that not a head was turned to see the approach of the masters and give the alarm. The consequence was that the latter were getting close up and able to make out that a fierce fight was going on between Slegge and Glyn Severn, the former seconded by Burney, the latter by the young Prince.

There was no shouting, no sound of egging on by the juvenile spectators, only an intense silence, punctuated by a hoarse panting sound, the trampling of feet, and the pat, pat, of blows.

The last of these was a heavy one, delivered right from the shoulder with all his remaining force—for the boy was pretty well exhausted—by Glyn Severn; and it was just as the Doctor was filling his capacious chest with the breath necessary after

his hurried advance to deliver a stern command to cease fighting. But before he uttered a word his biggest pupil came staggering back towards the ring of boys on the Doctor’s side, and as they hurriedly gave way down came Slegge flat upon his back at the fresh-comer’s feet.

After delivering his final blow, Glyn Severn nearly followed his impulse, and had hard work to check himself from falling flat upon his adversary. As it was, he dropped only upon one knee, rose again painfully, and stood with bruised and bleeding face gazing blankly at his stern preceptor, who now thundered out in his deepest tones, “What is the meaning of this?”

At the sight of the Doctor a thrill ran through the little throng; and, moved as by one impulse, there was the suggestion of a rush for safety. But the thunderous tones of the Doctor’s voice seemed to freeze every young abettor in his steps.

“Do you hear me, sirs?” cried the Doctor again. “What is the meaning of this?”

It was the smallest boy of the school who replied, in a shrill voice full of excitement, conveying the very plain truth:

“Fight, sir. Tom Slegge and one of the new boys.”

“Silence!” thundered the Doctor. “You know my rules, and that I have forbidden fighting. Here, somebody, one of the high form boys—you, Burney, let me hear what you have to say. Speak out, sir. Ah, you have been seconder, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir,” faltered the lad, whose hands showed unpleasant traces of what he had been doing.

“Ah,” continued the Doctor.—“Mr Rampson, see that not a boy dares to move.—Now, Burney, let me hear the whole truth of this from beginning to end. No suppression, sir, from favour or fear. I want the straightforward truth. Who began this disgraceful business?—Stop! Mr Rampson, here. Is that boy Slegge much hurt?”

“A bit stunned, sir, and stupid with his injuries, but he’s all right, sir; he’s coming round,” and in proof thereof Slegge, with the assistance of the master’s hands, struggled to his feet, and stood shaking his head as if he felt a wasp in his ear, and then promptly sat down again.

“Now, Burney,” cried the Doctor, “speak out. Who began this?”

The boy addressed glanced at the Doctor and then at Slegge, while his lips parted; but he uttered no sound.

“Do you hear me, sir?” roared the Doctor.

“Big Tom Slegge, sir,” came from the shrill little fellow who had before spoken.

The Doctor frowningly held up one big white finger at the little speaker, who shrank back amongst his fellows.

“I saw that look of yours, Burney,” said the Doctor sternly, “and I read its meaning, sir. It seemed to appeal to your older schoolfellow, one of the principals in this disgraceful encounter, asking him if you might speak out. I’ll answer for him. Yes, sir; and beware lest you, as a gentleman’s son, lower your position in my eyes by making any suppression. What was the cause of the quarrel?”

Burney’s face was working, for after the excitement of the fight and its sudden ending he felt hysterically emotional, and in a broken voice the truth came pouring forth.

“I can’t help it, sir, and if he bullies me afterwards for speaking I must tell all. Slegge’s been jealous of both the new boys ever since they came. He’s been as disagreeable and spiteful as could be, and forced us all to take his side.”

“Yes, yes; go on,” cried the Doctor, for the boy stopped with a gasp; but he spoke more calmly afterwards. “He’s been working it up, sir, for a fight for days, out of jealousy because he thought more was made of Singh and Severn than of him.”

“Indeed!” said the Doctor, nodding his head.

“And when it came, sir, to them having such a fuss made over them about their riding the elephant, and you asking them afterwards to dinner, it was bound to come.”

The boy stopped, and the Doctor turned to the classical master.

“Do you hear this, Mr Rampson?” he said, in his most sarcastic manner, the one he adopted towards the most stupidly ignorant boys. “I presume then that I ought to ask Mr Thomas Slegge’s permission before asking the two new pupils to my board.”

“Yes, sir,” burst out Burney, who had gathered breath and had now got into the swing of speaking. “It was bound to come, sir. Slegge said he should do it, and I can’t help it if I do seem like a sneak for telling all.”

“Go on, Burney,” said the Doctor. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Well, sir, he told all us seniors to be ready for the first chance there was. He said—”

“Who said?” interrupted the Doctor. “Let us be perfectly correct.”

“Slegge, sir. He said we were to be ready, for he was going to begin by giving the nigger fits.”

“By giving the nigger fits?” said the Doctor slowly. “And, pray, what did he mean by that?”

“Licking Singh, sir; the new boy from India, sir.”

“Oh,” said the Doctor sarcastically. “But he has not been giving the nigger fits.”

“No, sir; next day he changed his mind, and said he’d let Severn have it first.”

“Have it first?” said the Doctor slowly. “Your language is not very correct, Burney. But go on.”

“Yes, sir. He sent word round this morning to all the boys except those two that we were to meet down here by the elms; and when we did come, just as he thought, Severn and Singh fancied there was some new game on, and came to see. Then, sir, Slegge began at Severn, insulting him, sir—yes, that he did. I’m not going to say everything he called him; but he told him to stand up like a man and take his punishment.”

“Yes; and what did Severn say?”

“He said, sir, he was not going to degrade himself by fighting like a street blackguard; and then Slegge jeered and mocked at him and set us all at him to call him coward and cur; and he ended, sir, by walking straight up to him, and he asked him three times if he’d fight, and Severn, sir, said he wouldn’t, and then Slegge gave him a coward’s blow—one in the nose, sir, and made it bleed.”

“Ah!” said the Doctor. “And what did Severn do?”

“Took out his pocket-handkerchief, sir, and wiped it.”

“Exactly,” said the Doctor, with grim seriousness, “and a very correct thing too; that is,” he continued hastily, as if he had some slight idea of the suggestiveness of his remark, “I mean, that Severn behaved very well in refusing to fight. But he turned upon Slegge, of course, after such an incitement as that.”

“No, sir, he didn’t; he only stood there looking very red and with his lips quivering, and looking quite wild and reproachful at Singh.”

“Oh!” said the Doctor. “Then Singh has been in it too?”

“Yes, sir; Singh came at him like a lion, and said he was a coward and a cur, and that they’d never be friends again. But Severn did not speak a word, and before we knew what was going to happen next, Slegge took hold of Singh’s ear and asked him what it had to do with him, and he called him a nigger and an impudent foreign brat; and almost before we knew where we were, Singh hit Slegge quick as lightning, one-two right in the face, and then stepped back and began to take off his jacket; but before he could pull it off, Slegge got at him; and the boys hissed, sir, for while Singh’s hands were all in a tangle like in the sleeves, Slegge hit him three or four times in the face; but it only made him fierce, and getting rid of his jacket, he went at big Slegge.”

“Ah!” ejaculated the Doctor. “Go on, Mr Burney.”

“Slegge made a dash at him, sir; but Singh was too quick, and stepped on one side; and when Slegge turned upon him again Severn sprang in between them, snatched off his jacket, and crammed it into Singh’s hands. And then all the boys began to hooray.”

“What for?” said the Doctor.

“Because Severn said, sir, out loud, ‘Not such a coward as you think, Singhy. I must fight now.’”

“Bad—very bad,” said the Doctor; “cowardly too—two boys to one.”

“Oh no, sir; Singh didn’t do any more. He only laughed, threw down the jacket, and began slapping Severn on the back; and he seconded him, sir, quite fair and square all through, just as if he knew all about fighting, though he is a nig— Indian, sir. And there was a tremendous fight, till, after being a good deal knocked about, Severn was getting it all his own way, and finished off Slegge just as you came up, sir. And that’s the whole truth.—Isn’t it, boys?”

There was a chorus of the word “Yes,” and the Doctor drew a deep breath as it came to an end. Then he uttered the interjection “Hah!” looked very searchingly at Slegge, scanning the injuries he had received, and afterwards made the same keen examination of Severn.

“Disgraceful!” he said at last, shaking his head and frowning. “Young gentlemen, you will resume your studies at once.—Mr Rampson, will you see that these two injured lads go to their dormitory directly. Mrs Hamton will attend to their injuries and report to me whether it is necessary for the surgeon to be called in.—You hear me, boys?” shouted the Doctor. “Disperse at once. There will be a lecture in the theatre in ten minutes’ time.—Mr Rampson, there is to be no communication between these two principals and the rest.—You, Burney, and you, Singh, go on to my library.”

The next minute the trampled arena was in silence, and the Doctor, with his hands clasped behind him, was marching back alone towards his study, going so slowly that every one who had formed a portion of the little gathering had disappeared by the time he was half-way to the open French window.

There was something peculiar about Dr Bewley’s countenance as he slowly marched back. For one minute it was placid, the next stern, and directly after a slight quivering of the facial nerves developed into a mirthful look, which was emphasised by a low, pleasant, chuckling laugh. For the fact was that the tall, stern, portly Doctor’s thoughts had gone far back to his old schooldays and a victory he had once achieved over the brutal bully of the school at which he had been placed. And whether he was alluding to the tyrant of his days or to the one who had lorded it for long enough in the establishment of which he was the head must remain a mystery; but certain it was that the Doctor muttered presently to himself, “An overbearing young ruffian! A thoroughly good thrashing; and serve him right!”

The next moment the utterer of these words, which had fallen upon his own ears only, was looking guiltily round as if in dread lest he might have been heard. But there was no one visible but Sam Grigg, who was brushing hard at boots by the entrance to his own particular outdoor den; and he was too far away to hear; while, when the Doctor entered his study, he was met at the door by Wrench, who announced that a lady was waiting in the drawing-room, and he handed a card.

“Ha, yes, Wrench,” said the Doctor. “About a new pupil. I will see her directly.—Oh, Singh—Burney, you here? I will speak to you both another time. One moment—this is private, boys. You both know—at least, you do now, Burney, and you from henceforth must remember the same, Singh—I allow no brutal fighting in my establishment; but I am not very angry with you, my lads, for on the whole there was a display of manliness in your conduct that I cannot find it in my heart to condemn. There, you, Singh, can go and see your friend Severn.—And you, Burney, h’m—humph—well, yes, go and see Slegge. You must not forsake your companion now he is down.”

Chapter Twelve.

“With Faces like this.”

Singh’s encounter with Slegge had been very short, and when the Doctor sent him in the tokens of the affray were very slight; but a few hours afterwards certain discolorations were so manifest that the Doctor frowned and told him he had better join his companion in the dormitory for a few days and consider himself in Mrs Hamton’s charge. Singh hailed the order with delight, and went straight to his bedroom, where the plump, pleasant, elderly housekeeper had just entered before him, carrying a small basin half-full of some particular liniment-like preparation of her own, a sponge, and a soft towel.

When Singh appeared at the door Glyn sat up so suddenly that he nearly knocked over the basin that Mrs Hamton had given him to hold, after spreading the soft towel in his lap, when she began sponging his face with the preparation.

“Oh, my dear child,” she cried, “pray, be careful!”

“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the boy merrily.—“Oh, do look at him, Mrs Hamton. What a guy!”

“Guy!” cried Singh sharply. “What do you mean?”

He dashed to the dressing-table and took his first look at his face in the glass since he had dressed that morning.

“Oh, I say,” he cried, “I never thought of this. Why, it’s just like my face was that day after the sergeant had shown us how to use the boxing-gloves.”

“Yes,” cried Glyn merrily; “but what sort of a phiz would you have had if you had fought it out?”

“One something like yours,” cried Singh. “Oh, I say, you ought to talk! What eyes! and your lip all cut. Why, your face is all on one side.”

“Yes, isn’t it shocking, my dear,” said the old housekeeper. “I do hope that it will be a lesson to you both. I never could understand why young gentlemen were so fond of fighting.”

“Oh, it’s because it’s so nice, Mrs Hamton,” said Glyn, who spoke as if he were in the height of glee.

“I don’t believe you mean that, my dear; but there, lie back in the chair again, and let me go on dabbing all your poor cuts and bruises with this lotion and water. It’s so cooling and healing, and it will take all the inflammation out.—And don’t you go, my dear,” she continued, turning to Singh, “till I have done your face over too.”

“I am not going,” said Singh quietly. “The Doctor sent me up here to stop.”

“Has he?” cried Glyn. “Oh, hurrah! Here, Mrs Hamton, another patient for you to make decent.—I say, Singhy, she’s just come from old Slegge. I’m afraid I’ve made his face in a horrible mess.”

“You have indeed, my dear,” said the housekeeper reproachfully. “But oh, what a pity it is that young gentlemen will so far forget themselves! It grieves me; it does indeed.”

“But I don’t forget myself,” protested Glyn. “I was obliged to fight. You wouldn’t have had me lie down and let him knock both of us about for nothing, would you, nurse—I mean Mrs Hamton?”

“Oh, don’t ask me, my dear; it’s not for me to say; and you needn’t mind calling me nurse, for it always sounds nice and pleasant to me. There, now, doesn’t that feel cool and comforting?”

“Lovely,” cried Glyn softly, and as he looked up in the pleasant face, with its grey curls on either side, his eyes for the moment, what could be seen of them, seemed to be sparkling with mischief and mirth, for there was a feeling of pride and triumph at his success swelling in his breast, and a few moments later, so great was the comfort he experienced under the delicate manipulation of his motherly attendant’s hands, that he looked up at her and began to smile—only began, for he uttered an ejaculation of pain.

“Oh, my dear, did I hurt you?” cried the housekeeper.

“No,” said the boy, in rather a piteous tone; “it was my face. It’s all stiff and queer.”

“Yes, I told you that it was one-sided,” said Singh merrily.

“Well, never mind, my dear; it will soon be better,” said the housekeeper soothingly. “But you must do exactly what I tell you, and be very patient and still.”

“But, I say, look here, Mrs Hamton,” cried Glyn, catching the hand which was bearing the sponge and holding it to his cheek, to the old lady’s intense satisfaction, though somehow there came an unwonted look of moisture in her eyes.

“What were you going to say, my dear? But, dear, dear, what a pity it is that you should go and disfigure yourselves like this! What would your poor father say if he knew?”

“Oh, I say, don’t talk about it,” cried Glyn.—“Fancy, Singhy, if he could see us now!”

Glyn tried to whistle, but his puffed-up lips refused to give forth a sound; and, seeing this, Singh whistled for him, and then in spite of the pain and stiffness of their faces the two boys laughed till the suffering became intense.

“Oh, don’t, don’t, don’t, Singhy!” cried Glyn. “I can’t bear it.”

“Well, I never did see two such young gentlemen as you are,” said the old housekeeper, smiling in turn.

“You ought both to be lying back looking as melancholy as black, and here you are making fun of your troubles. Ah, it’s a fine thing, my dears, to be boys and quite young; but I do hope that you will never fight any more, and that you will both soon go and shake hands with Mr Slegge, and tell him you are very sorry you hit him. I am sure that he must feel very sorry that he ever hit you, he being so much bigger and having so long had the advantage of being taught by the Doctor, who is the best man that ever lived, while you two are so new, and you, Mr Singh, so much younger than Mr Slegge that I do wonder he ever so far forgot himself as to hit you. Now, you will make friends afterwards, won’t you?”

“No!” cried Singh sharply. “I hate the coward.”

“Oh, my dear!” cried the old lady.

“He doesn’t mean it, nursey,” cried Glyn, getting hold of her hand again. “He only said it because he feels so sore. He’s got a sore face and a sore temper; but it will be all right when he gets well.”

“I hope so, my dear; and you will shake hands with him, won’t you?”

“Yes,” said Glyn merrily, “as soon as he holds out his. I can afford to.—Can’t I, Singhy?”

“Oh yes, of course.”

“There,” said the old lady, “now that’s spoken nicely, and I don’t think I’ll bathe your face any more.—Now, my dear,” she continued to Singh, “it’s your turn.”

“Oh, mine doesn’t want doing, does it?” said the boy carelessly.

“Yes, my dear, and very badly too. If it isn’t bathed with my lotion it will go on swelling, and be more discoloured still.”

“Oh!” cried the boy eagerly.—“Here, you, Glyn, get up out of that chair. It’s my turn now, as Mrs Hamton says,” and he took another glimpse at the glass. “There, I’m ready. Oh, I say, I do look a wretch!”

Under the care of the good-natured old housekeeper during the next two days a great deal of the swelling went down; but after the old lady’s report, and visits from the Doctor himself, they were both still treated as infirmary patients, and relieved from lessons till such time as they should be presentable amongst their fellows.

But on the third day the confinement was growing irksome in the extreme; and the Doctor, after his daily visit, gave Singh permission to come down into the grounds if he liked. But the boy did not like. A glance at his companion in adversity revealed a disappointed look, and as soon as the Doctor was gone he picked up one of the books with which they were well supplied.

“Well,” said Glyn gloomily, “why don’t you go down?”

“Because I don’t want to,” was the reply; and no more was said.

But that afternoon soon after dinner, which was brought up to them by the housekeeper on a folding-tray, and just when the irksomeness of their position was pressing hardest upon their brains, there was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the door, the handle was turned without any waiting for permission, and Wrench’s head was thrust in.

“I say, young gents,” he cried, “here’s a go!”

“What’s the matter?” asked Glyn anxiously. “Don’t say Slegge’s worse.”

“I wasn’t going to, sir. It’s something worse than that.”

“What?”

“There’s a gentleman along with the Doctor.”

“A gentleman!” cried the boys together.

“Yes; a tall, military-looking gentleman, with long white starchers, and such a voice. He seemed as if he wanted to look me through. Fierce as fierce he was when he gave me his card to take in.”

“What was on the card?” cried Glyn excitedly.

“Can’t you guess, sir?” said the man, grinning.

“Colonel Severn!” shouted Singh.

“My father!” gasped Glyn. “Oh, Singhy! And us with faces like this!”

Chapter Thirteen.

Before the “Starchers.”

Singh ran across to the glass on the dressing-table.

“Why, Glyn, we can’t see him. I’m bad enough, but you are far worse. What’s to be done?”

“I dunno,” cried Glyn. “Who in the world would have thought he was coming down here to-day!”

“We are supposed to be in the infirmary, aren’t we?” said Singh. “I say, couldn’t we undress and go to bed?”

“No,” said Glyn promptly. “What difference would that make?”

“Why, he’d think we were too ill to be seen.”

“Nonsense,” cried Glyn. “Wouldn’t he come up and see us all the same?”

“Oh dear!” groaned Singh. “What a mess we are in! This comes of your fighting.”

“Well, who made me fight? Who began it?”

“Well, I suppose it was I,” said Singh; “but I couldn’t stand still and let him knock us both about. Oh dear, what a lot of bother it all is!”

“Here, I say, Wrench,” cried Glyn excitedly, “were you sent up to tell us that my father was here?”

“No, sir,” said the man, grinning; “but I thought you’d like to know. I must go now, in case my bell rings.”

The footman went off hurriedly, and the two boys, after a fresh visit to the looking-glass, tried to make the best of their appearance.

Glyn combed his hair down in a streak over one side of his bruised forehead, while Singh poured out some cold water and dabbed and sponged his right eye; but he could not wash away the discoloration that surrounded it, and after applying the towel he plumped himself down in a chair and sat staring at his companion.

“It’s no use,” he said; “I daren’t face guardian, and I won’t.”

“You tell him so,” said Glyn, laughing, “and see what he will say.”

“How am I going to tell him so when I shan’t see him?”

“Why, you’ll be obliged to.”

“I tell you I won’t!” cried Singh passionately.

“There’s a sneak! And you will let me go down alone and face it all.”

“Oh, I say, don’t talk like that,” cried Singh. “Can’t we get out of it somehow, old chap? Let’s run away till the Colonel’s gone.”

“Yes, of course,” cried Glyn sarcastically. “How much money have you got?”

“Oh, I don’t know; half-a-crown and some shillings.”

“Oh, I have got more than that. I have got half-a-sovereign. Shall we go to Plymouth, and sail for somewhere abroad?”

“Yes, anywhere, so that we don’t have to meet your father.”

“Ah,” said Glyn, who was trying very hard to make the lock of hair he had combed over a bruise stop in its place, but it kept jumping up again and curling back to the customary position in spite of applications of cold water and pomatum.

“Well, what do you mean by ‘Ah’?” grumbled Singh.

“Mean by ‘Ah’?” replied Glyn slowly. “Why, it means what a stupid old chucklehead you are. Run away! Likely, isn’t it?”

“Oh, too late! too late!” cried Singh, for there was another sharp tap at the door, and Wrench entered smartly, closely followed by his cat.

“Doctor’s compliments, gentlemen, and you are to come down into the drawing-room directly.—And just you go back to the pantry at once,” he shouted at his cat. “How many more times am I to tell you that you are not to follow me up into the young gentlemen’s rooms?”

“Bah!” shouted Glyn, and he threw the hairbrush he held smartly at the footman, who caught it cleverly, as if he were fielding a ball at mid-wicket, and deposited it upon the dressing-table.

“Well caught, sir!” cried the man, eulogising his own activity. “There, never mind, gentlemen; go down and get it over. There ain’t anything to be ashamed of. If I was you, Mr Severn, I should feel proud at having licked that great big disagreeable chap. I shall be glad to see his back. He’s quite big enough to leave school.”

“Ah!” said Glyn with a sigh. “Come on, Singhy; Wrench is right. Let’s get it over; only I want to bathe my face again. It smells of old Mother Hamton’s embro— what did she call it? You may as well go on first. I won’t be long.”

“What!” cried Singh, looking aghast at the speaker. “Go down and see him alone? I won’t! He’s not my father; he’s yours. You may go first, and I won’t come unless I’m obliged.”

“Won’t you?” said Glyn, laughing softly, and he caught hold of his companion’s wrist and drew it under his arm. “Open the door, Wrenchy, and make way for the hospital—two wounded men going down.—I say, Singhy, look as bad as you can. Here, I know: Wrenchy and I will carry you down in a chair.”

Singh opened his mouth quickly and shut it sharply, making his white teeth close together with a snap. Then knitting his brows and drawing a deep breath, he held on tightly to his companion, and walked with him in silence downstairs into the hall. Here the pair stopped short by the drawing-room door, where Wrench slipped before them and raised his hand to show them in; but Glyn caught him by the arm.

“Wait a moment,” he said, and the three stood there by the mat, forming a group, listening to the slow, heavy murmur of the Doctor’s voice and the replies given in a loud, sonorous, emphatic tone.

“Now,” said Glyn at last.

The door was thrown open, and they entered, to face the Doctor, who was seated back in an easy-chair with his hands before him and finger-tips joined; while right in the centre of the hearthrug, his back to the fireplace and legs striding as if he were across his charger, stood the tall grey Colonel, swarthy with sunburn and marked by the scar of a tulwar-cut which had divided his eyebrow and passed diagonally from brow to cheek.

He was gazing at the Doctor and listening politely to something he was saying in his soft, smooth voice, but turned his head sharply as the door was opened, and his ultra-long, heavy grey moustache seemed to writhe as he fixed the boys with his keen grey eyes in turn.

“Right, Doctor!” he cried, as if he were giving an order to a squadron to advance. “Disgraceful!—Well, you do look a pretty pair!”

“I’ll leave you together,” said the Doctor, rising slowly, and then glancing at the boys. “Yes,” he said softly, “dreadfully marked; but you should have seen them, Colonel, directly after their encounter.”

“Ha, yes; wounded on the field,” said the Colonel drily. “Thank you. Yes, sir, I think I should like to have a few words with them alone.”

For the first time since they had known him the feeling was strong upon the boys that they would have liked their preceptor to stay.

But the Doctor gave each of them a grave nod as he moved towards the door, and they both stood as if chained to the carpet till the Colonel made a stride forward, when Glyn recollected himself, ran to the door, and opened it for the Doctor to pass out.

The Colonel grunted, and then as the door was closed, he marched slowly across to his son; and as the boy faced him caught him by the shoulder with his right hand, walked him back to where Singh stood alone, grabbed him with his left, and forced them both towards the wide bay window fully into the light.

“Stand there!” he said, in commanding tones.

Then stooping stiffly to seize the Doctor’s easy-chair by the back, he made the castors squeak as he swung it round and threw himself into it with his back to the window, when he crossed one leg over the other, and sat staring at them fiercely and scanning for some moments every trace of the late encounter.

Glyn drew a long, deep breath loudly enough to be heard, while Singh stood with hanging hands, opening and closing his fingers, and passing his tongue quickly over his dry lips. But the Colonel still went on staring at them and frowning heavily the while.

At last Singh could bear it no longer.

“Oh, say something, sir!” he cried passionately. “Scold us, bully us, punish us if you like; but I can’t bear to be looked at like that.”

It was the Colonel’s turn now to draw a deep breath, as he raised himself in the chair a little, thrust one hand behind him, fumbled for his pocket, and then drew out a large soft bandana handkerchief and blew his nose with a blast like a trumpeted order to charge.

Then, as he sank back in his chair, “Ha, ha, ha! haw, haw, haw!” he literally roared. “Well, you do look a pretty pair of beauties!” he cried. “But this won’t do. Here, you, Glyn, what do you mean by this, sir? Didn’t I warn you against fighting, and tell you to protect and set an example to young Singh here?”

“Yes, father.”

“Look at yourself in the glass. You look a pretty pattern, don’t you?”

“Yes, father.”

“I told you to look at yourself in the glass. Why don’t you?”

“Because I know every scratch and bruise thoroughly by heart, father.”

“But—” began the Colonel.

Here Singh interposed.

“It wasn’t his fault, sir,” cried the boy. “It was mine. He didn’t want to fight, and said he wouldn’t.”

“Ho!” said the Colonel. “Said he wouldn’t fight, did he.”

“Yes, sir, and he actually let the big bully hit him.”

“Ha!” said the Colonel. “And then knocked him down for it?”

“No, he didn’t, sir,” cried Singh, with his eyes twinkling. “He wouldn’t fight even then.”

“Humph!” grunted the Colonel. “And what then?”

“Well, it put me in such a rage, sir, that I couldn’t bear it, and I went and hit the big fellow right in the face, and he hit me again.”

“Ah, you needn’t tell me that,” replied the Colonel; “that’s plain enough. Well, what after?”

“Well, that made Glyn take my part, and he swung me behind him; and oh, sir, he did give the big fellow such an awful thrashing!”

“Ha!” said the Colonel, taking his great grey moustache by both hands and drawing it out horizontally. “A thorough thrashing, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what were you doing?”

“Oh, I was seconding him, sir.”

“Oh, that was right. You were not both on him at once?”

“Oh no, sir; it was all fair.”

“Then Glyn thoroughly whipped him, eh?”

“Yes, sir, thoroughly.”

The Colonel turned to his son, and looked him over again; and then, after another two-handed tug at his moustache, he said slowly:

“I say, Glyn, old chap, you got it rather warmly. But tut, tut, tut, tut! This won’t do. What did that old chap say: ‘Let dogs delight to bark and bite’? Here, I have been talking to the Doctor, and the Doctor has been talking to me. Look here, you, Singh, military fighting, after proper discipline, and done by fighting men, is one thing; schoolboy fighting is quite another, not for gentlemen. It’s low and blackguardly.—Do you hear, Glyn?” he cried turning on his son. “Blackguardly, sir—blackguardly. Look at your faces, sir, and see how you have got yourselves marked. But er—er—”

He picked his pocket-handkerchief up from where he had spread it over his knees and blew another blast. “This er—this er—big fellow that you thrashed—big disagreeable fellow—bit of a bully, eh?”

“Regular tyrant, father. We hadn’t been here a month, before not a day passed without his insulting Singh or making us uncomfortable.”

“Ha! insulted Singh, did he?”

“Yes, sir,” cried that individual through his set teeth. “He was always calling me nigger, and mocking at me in some way.”

“Humph! Brute! And so, after putting up with a good deal, and obeying my orders till he couldn’t stand it any longer, Glyn took your part and thrashed the fellow, eh?”

“Yes, sir, bravely,” cried Singh, with his eyes flashing. “I wish you’d been there to see.”

“I wish—”

The Colonel stopped short. “No, no. Tut, tut! Nonsense! I did not want to see. Here, hold out your hands, Glyn. No, no, not like that. Double your fists. Hold them out straight. I want to look at your knuckles. Dreadful! Nice state for a gentleman’s hands. Fighting’s bad.—Do you hear, Singh? Very bad. But I must confess that I didn’t get through school without a turn-up or two myself. Glyn took your part, then, and thrashed the fellow. Well, he won’t bully either of you again. Yes, I got into my scrapes when I was a boy; but you know times were different then. Everything was rougher. This sort of thing won’t do. You must be more of gentlemen now—more polished. Fighting’s bad.”

“But you let the sergeant, father, teach us how to use the gloves after you had got them over from England.”

“Eh? What, sir—what sir?” cried the Colonel sharply. “Well, yes, I did. It was a bit of a lapse, though, and every man makes mistakes. But that, you see, was part of my old education, and through being in India so many years and away from modern civilisation, and er— Of course, I remember; it was after your poor father had been talking to me, Singh, and telling me that he looked to me to make you a thorough English gentleman, one fit to occupy his throne some day, and rule well over his people—firmly, justly, and strongly, as an Englishman would. And, of course, I thought it would be right for you both to know how to use your fists if you were unarmed and attacked by ruffians. And—er, well, well, you see I was not quite wrong. Mind, you know, I detest fighting, and only this morning I have been quite agreeing with the Doctor—fine old gentlemanly fellow, by the way, and a great scholar—agreeing with him, I say, that this fighting is rather a disgrace. At the same time, my boys, as I was about to say, I was not quite wrong about those gloves. You see, it enabled Glyn here to bring skill to bear against a bigger and a stronger man, and er—um—you see, there are other kinds of fighting that a man will have to go through in life; and then when such things do happen, mind this—I mean it metaphorically, you know—when you do have to fight with your fists, or with your tongue, thrash your adversary if you can; but if he from superior skill or strength thrashes you, why then, take it like a man, shake hands, and bear no malice against the one who wins.”

The Colonel blew his nose again.

“That’s not quite what I wanted to say, my boys; but I shall think this affair over a bit, and perhaps I shall have a few more words to say by-and-by.”

“Oh, I say, dad—” cried Glyn.

“What do you mean by that, sir?” said the Colonel sharply.

“Finish it all now, and don’t bring it up again.”

“Glyn!” cried the Colonel sternly.

“Yes, father.”

“Don’t you dictate to me, sir. I promised the Doctor that I would talk to you both severely about this—this—well, piece of blackguardism, ungentlemanly conduct, and I must keep my word. But I will reserve the rest till after dinner.”

“After dinner, father?” cried Glyn eagerly.

“Yes. I have come down to stay at Plymborough for a few days at the hotel, and I have told them there that I should have two gentlemen to dine with me to-night, of course, if the Doctor gives his consent.”

“Oh, but look at us, sir!” cried Singh. “We are in the infirmary, and not fit to come.”

“Infirmary!” said the Colonel scornfully. “Ha, ha! You look infirm both of you!”

“Oh, we don’t feel much the matter, father,” said Glyn; “but look at us.”

“Look at you, sir? How can I help looking at you? Yes, you do look nice objects.”

“But we can’t help it now, sir,” said Singh, “and we should like to come.”

“Humph! Yes, of course you’d like to come, my boy, and I want to have you both to finish my lecture after I have thought it out a little more. Well, look here, my lads; you are both bruised and—er—a bit discoloured; but the world isn’t obliged to know that it was done with fists. You might have been thrown off your horses or been upset in a carriage accident. Oh yes, it’s no business of anybody else’s. I shall ask the Doctor to let you come.”

“Oh, thank you, father!” cried Glyn eagerly. “But I say, dad, you didn’t shake hands with Singh when we came in.”

“Well, no, boy; but—there, there, that’s all right now. You see I had to listen to what the Doctor said. Why, he tells me that you fellows showed them all down here how to deal with a rowdy elephant.”

“Singh did, father.”

“Well done, boy! You see, that’s one great advantage in learning. Nearly everything comes useful some time or other, and— There, let me see,” he continued, referring to his watch. “I must be off. Visit too long as it is. Ring the bell, one of you. I want to see the Doctor again before I go.”

“And you will get us leave, sir?” cried Singh, as he returned from pulling at the bell.

“Oh yes, I’ll manage that. Seven o’clock, boys, military time; and now you both be off; but mind this, I am going to finish my lecture after dinner, for I am not satisfied with what I said. There, right about face! March!”

As the boys reached the door the handle was turned and the Doctor entered the room.

Chapter Fourteen.

A Little Bit about the Past.

“Well, boys, glad to see you! Did Dr Justinian say anything to you about coming away to-night?”

“No, father; but—Dr Justinian—who do you mean?”

“Why, your law-maker and instructor. He spoke very seriously to me about breaking his laws and rules. Well, here you are. Come along. The dining-room is this way.—I have been very busy since I saw you, Singh. I have seen the cook and given him a good talking to, and he has promised us a regular Indian dinner, with curry.”

The Colonel laid his hand on Singh’s shoulder, and they passed out into the hall of the hotel.

As they were crossing, Morris entered from the other side, nodded and smiled to the boys, raised his hat to the Colonel, who stared at him, and then passing on, went up to the office to speak to the manager.

“Friend of yours, boys?” said the Colonel. “Yes, father; one of our masters.”

“Oh! What brings him here?”

“I don’t know, father. Perhaps he thought you might ask him to dinner.”

“Ho!” said the Colonel, with a snort. “Then he thought wrong. Ah—but one moment! Would you like me to ask him, my boy?”

“Oh no,” cried Glyn, with a look of dismay. “We want you all to ourselves, father.”

“But you, Singh; would you like him to join us?”

The boy shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.

“No,” he said; “I think like Glyn does,” and Singh clung in a boyish, affectionate manner to the stalwart Colonel’s arm, greatly to that gentleman’s satisfaction.

“Then we will have our snug little dinner all to ourselves, boys, and a good long talk about old times and the last news I have had from Dour.—Yes, all right, waiter; serve the dinner at once, and mind everything is very hot.—There you are: snug little table for three. I’ll sit this side with my back to the light, and you two can sit facing it, so that I can look at you both.”

“Oh, but that isn’t fair, father,” cried Glyn. “We ought to be with our backs to the light.”

“Not at all, sir,” said the Colonel, laughing. “A soldier should never be ashamed of his scars.”

The seats were taken, the dinner began, and had not proceeded far before Glyn noticed that the waiter was staring very hard at his bruised face, getting so fierce a look in return that the man nearly dropped the plate he was handing, and refrained from looking at him again.

“Better bring candles, waiter,” said the Colonel.—“One likes to see what one is eating, boys;” and as a few minutes later the waiter placed a tall branch with its four wax candles in the centre of the table, the Colonel nodded to Singh. “There,” he said, “now we can all play fair, and you can see my scars.”

“Yes,” said Singh, looking at the Colonel fixedly. “There’s the big one quite plain that father used to tell me about.”

“Indeed!” said the Colonel sharply. “Why, what did he tell you about it, and when?”

“Oh, it was when I was quite a little fellow,” replied Singh. “He said it was in a great fight when three of the rajahs had joined against him to attack him and kill him, and take all his land. He said that there was a dreadful fight, and there were so many of his enemies that he was being beaten.”

“Oh—ah—yes,” said the Colonel. “Your father and I had a great many fights with his enemies when the Company sent me to help him with a battery of horse artillery, and to drill his men.”

“Was that, father, when you drilled and formed your regiment of cavalry?”

“Yes, boy, yes. But never mind the fighting now. That was in the old days. Go on with your dinner.”

But Singh did not seem to heed his words, for he was sitting gazing straight before him at the scar on his host’s forehead; and laying down his knife and fork he continued, in a rapt, dreamy way, “And he said he thought his last hour had come, for he and the few men who were retreating with him had placed their backs against a steep piece of cliff, and they were fighting for their lives, surrounded by hundreds of the enemy.”

“My dear boy, you are letting your dinner get cold,” said the Colonel, in a petulant way.

“Yes,” continued Singh, “and it was all just like a story out of a book. I used to ask father to tell it to me, and when I did he used to smile and make me kneel down before him with my hands on his knees.”

“But, my dear Singh,” interposed the Colonel, who looked so annoyed and worried that Glyn kicked his schoolfellow softly under the table, and then coloured up.

“Don’t!” cried Singh sharply; and then in his old dreamy tone, “When he told me I used to seem to see it all, with his fierce enemies in their steel caps with the turbans round them, and the chain rings hanging about their necks and their swords flashing in the air as they made cuts at my father’s brave friends; and first one fell bleeding, and then another, till there were only about a dozen left, and my father the Maharajah was telling his men that the time had come when they must make one bold dash at their enemies, and die fighting as brave warriors should.”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried the Colonel querulously. “But that curry is getting cold, my boy, and it won’t be worth eating if it isn’t hot.”

“Yes, I’ll go on directly,” continued Singh in the same imperturbable manner, and he leaned his elbows now upon the table, placed his chin upon his hands, and fixed his eyes upon the Colonel’s scar.

“I can see it all now so plainly,” he said; and with a quick gesture his host dropped his knife sharply in his plate and clapped his hand across his forehead, while Glyn gave his schoolfellow another thrust—a soft one this time—with his foot.

But Singh paid not the slightest heed to his companion’s hint. He only leaned a little more forward to look now in the Colonel’s eyes; and laughing softly he continued:

“That doesn’t make any difference. I can see it all just the same, and I seem to hear the roar like thunder father spoke about. He said it was the trampling of horses and the shouting of men, and it was you tearing over the plain from out of the valley, with all the men that you had drilled and made into his brave regiment. They swept over the ground with a rush, charging into the midst of the enemy and cutting right and left till they reached my father and his friends, when a terrible slaughter went on for a few minutes before the enemy turned and fled, pursued by your brave soldiers, who had left their leader wounded on the ground. Father said he had just strength enough to catch you in his arms as you fell from your horse with that terrible gash across your forehead. That was how he said you saved his life and always became his greatest friend.”

The Colonel’s lips had parted to check the narration again and again; but he seemed fascinated by the strange look in the boy’s eyes, and for the time being it was as if the whole scene of many years before was being enacted once again; while, to Glyn’s astonishment, the boy slowly rose from his seat, went round to the Colonel’s side of the table, to stand behind his chair till the waiter left the room, and then laying one hand on the old warrior’s shoulder, with the other he drew away that which covered the big scar, and bending over him he said softly:

“Father told me I was to try and grow up like you, who saved his life, and that I was always to think of you as my second father when he was gone.”

As Singh ended he bent down gently, and softly and reverently kissed the scar, while the Colonel closed his eyes and Glyn noticed that his lips were quivering beneath the great moustache, which seemed to move strangely as if it had been touched.

For a few moments then there was a deep silence, during which Singh glided back to his seat, took up his knife and fork, and said, in quite a changed tone of voice:

“It always makes me think of that when I sit and look at you. And it comes back, sir, just like a dream. My father the Maharajah told me I was never to forget that story; and I never shall.”

Just at that moment the door was opened, and the waiter entered bearing another dish, while through the opening there came a burst of music as if some band were playing a march.

“Hah!” cried the Colonel, speaking with quite a start, but with his voice sounding husky and strange, and the words seeming forced as he gave Singh a long and earnest look. “Why, surely that is not a military band?”

“No, sir,” said the waiter, as he proceeded to change the plates, two of them having their contents hardly touched. “There’s a wild-beast show in the town, sir, in the field at the back,” and as he spoke the man looked sharply at the boys.

“Oh,” said the Colonel with a forced laugh. “Why, boys, is that where your elephant came from?”

And then the dinner went on, with the Colonel forcing himself into questioning the boys about their adventure, and from that he brought up the elephants in Dour, and chatted about tiger-shooting and the dangers of the man-eaters in the jungle. But all the time Glyn kept noting that his father spoke as if he had been strangely moved, and that when he turned his eyes upon Singh his face softened and his voice sounded more gentle.

As they sat over the dessert, Singh asked him to tell them about one of the other old fights that his father and the Colonel had been in.

“Don’t ask me, my boy,” said the Colonel gently. “You can’t understand it perhaps. When you grow as old as I am perhaps you will. But I don’t know. You like Glyn after a fashion, I suppose?”

“Like him?” cried Singh half-fiercely. “Why, of course I do!”

“Ha!” said the Colonel. “And Glyn likes you, I know; and no wonder—brought up together as you were like brothers. Well, my boy, I went out to India not very much older than you two fellows are, as a cadet in the Company’s service, and somehow or other, being a reckless sort of a fellow, I was sent into several of the engagements with some of the chiefs, and was picked out at last, when I pretty well understood my work, to go to your father’s court as you said, my boy, with half-a-dozen six-pounders and teams of the most dashing Arab horses in the service. Then, somehow, your father got to like me, and I liked him, and then we did a lot of fighting together until he was fixed securely upon his throne, and he never would hear of my leaving him again. But there, you know all about it. He left you to me, Singh, to make a man of you with Glyn here, and I hope to live to go back with you both to Dour and see you safe in your rightful position and fight for you if the need should ever come. And some day I hope that you two boys will have grown into two strong, true-hearted men, with the same brotherly love between you as held your fathers fast. And then— Oh, hang that music! The fellows can’t play a bit. Here, what do you say? Shall we walk into the field and listen to them and see the show? Your elephant too?”

“No,” said Singh softly. “Let’s stop here and talk about Dour and my father. We don’t often see you now, sir, and I should like that best.”

“To be sure, then, my dear boys, we will stop here. I want you to do what you like best.—But you, Glyn: what do you say?”

“I like to hear you talk, father, and to be with you as much as we can.”

“That’s good, my boy. Then, to begin with,” cried the Colonel with a chuckle, “I’ll just finish my lecture. I was very nearly letting it slip.”

“Oh, but, father,” cried Glyn, “I thought you had looked over all that.”

“I have, my boy; but you know I am not good at talking. The Doctor would have given you a splendid lecture on fighting.”

“He did,” said Glyn drily, and the Colonel laughed.

“I suppose he would, my boys; but since I saw you this morning something occurred to me that I might have mentioned to you. How much do you boys know about Shakespeare?”

“Not much, father—neither of us, I am afraid.”