_ CHAPTER TWENTY. A SQUABBLE.
"Anybody seen anything of Singh?" cried Glyn one day as he went out into the cricket-field, where Slegge was batting to the bowling of some of his little slaves and several of the older boys were looking on.
"Baa! Baa! Baa!" cried Slegge, imitating a sheep, and stopping to rest upon his bat. "Hark at the great lamb calling after its black shepherd! Go on, some of you, and help me," and in answer to his appeal a chorus of bleating arose, in which, in obedience to a gesture made with the bat, the little bowlers and fielders were forced to join.
"Well, if I were a quarrelsome chap," said Glyn to himself, "I should just go up to Master Slegge and put my fist up against his nose. Great, stupid, malicious hobbledehoy! But it's very plain Singhy hasn't been here. Now, where can he be? Gone down the town perhaps to buy something--cakes or fruit I suppose. How fond he is of something nice to eat? But there, he always gives a lot away to the little fellows. Well, so do I, if you come to that; but I don't think it's because I give them buns and suckers that they all like me as they do. Well, I suppose that's where Singh's gone; but he might have told me and asked me to go with him."
The boy strolled back with the intention of going into the class-room, now empty, to sit down and have a good long read; but as he drew near the house he came upon the page, who, wonderful to relate, displayed a face without a vestige of blacking.
"Hi, Sam!" cried Glyn. "Seen anything of Mr Singh?"
"Yes, sir; I see him down the town--saw him down the town, sir, I mean," said the boy hastily, recalling the fact that he had been corrected several times about his use of the verb "To see."
"Saw him down the town," he muttered to himself. "See, saw; see, saw. Wish I could recollect all that."
"Which way was he going?" said Glyn.
"Straight down, sir, towards the church, along of Mr Morris, sir."
"Humph! Gone for a walk, I suppose," said Glyn thoughtfully.
"Yes, sir, they were walking, sir. Shall I tell him you want him, sir, when he comes back?"
"Oh no, I don't think you need. I dare say he'll come to me," replied Glyn, and he strolled into the big class-room, unlocked his desk, got out a book of travels, opened it at one particular spot which he had reached a day or two before, and then began to read, growing so interested that a couple of hours glided away like half of one.
Then, closing the book with a sigh, as the dial on the wall insisted upon the fact that time was passing, he replaced the work and went up to his room to prepare for the evening meal.
"What a pity it is," he said, "that half-holidays will go so quickly. Classic afternoons always seem three times as long, and so do Mr Morris's lessons. I wish I were not so stupid over mathematics."
On reaching the door of his room he thrust it open quietly, and found Singh kneeling down before his Indian bullock-trunk, lifting out some of its contents ready to make place for something else.
"Why, hallo! There you are, then!" Singh started as sharply as if he had received a slap on the shoulder, scrambled up something long tied up in brown paper that lay by his side, thrust it into the trunk, and began to cover it quickly with some of the articles that had been taken out.
"Ha, ha! Caught you!" cried Glyn. "What have you got there? Cakes or a box of sweets?"
"Neither," said Singh rather slowly.
"Oh, all right, I don't want to know," cried Glyn good-humouredly. "But I know: you mean a surprise--a tuck-out to-night when we come to bed. Who are you going to ask?"
"No one," said Singh shortly.
"Oh, I would. Ask Burney and Miller. They're good chaps, only Slegge keeps them under his thumb so. They'd give anything to break away, I know."
Singh was silent.
"Here, I say," cried Glyn, "I tell you what would be a rare good bit of fun, and if the Doctor knew he wouldn't notice it. Let's get about a dozen of the little chaps some night, Burton and Robson, the small juniors, and give them a regular good feed quite late. They would enjoy it. What do you say?"
"Yes," said Singh; "to be sure we will."
"I say," said Glyn, "I'd have come with you if you had asked me this afternoon. What a close old chap you are! Where have you been? Here, I'm going to see what you have got there."
"No, no!" cried Singh excitedly, as Glyn stepped forward, only meaning it as a feint; and the boy threw himself across the open box, to begin scrambling the dislodged things over the something that was loosely covered with brown paper, and in his hurry and excitement, instead of hiding it thoroughly, exposing one small corner. But it was quite big enough to let Glyn see what it was; and, laughing aloud, he cried:
"Why, what a coward you are! I was only pretending."
Singh hurriedly closed the lid of the trunk.
"Where have you been?"
Singh was silent for a moment, for a struggle was going on in his mind.
"I have been out for a walk with Mr Morris," he said.
"Well, there's no harm in that," said Glyn. "Where did you go? Across the park, or down by the river?"
Singh was silent for a moment or two once more, and then in a hurried way he seemed to master his reserve, and said:
"We didn't go regularly for a walk. We went to see Professor Barclay."
"Mr Morris took you to see Professor Barclay?" said Glyn.
"Yes, yes; but I wish you wouldn't keep on questioning me so."
"Well, I want to know," said Glyn quietly. "You don't speak out and tell me, so I am obliged to ask."
"Well," said Singh gloomily, "I want to be open and tell you; but you are such a queer fellow."
"Yes, I am," said Glyn, looking hard at his companion.
"Well, so you are," said Singh half-angrily; "and you are so fond of finding fault with me and not liking what I do."
"I don't know that I should have minded your going to see Professor Barclay," said Glyn slowly, "especially if you went with Mr Morris."
"No, you oughtn't to," cried Singh hastily. "Mr Morris said that it would be a kindness to go and see the poor gentleman, for he is a gentleman and a great scholar."
"So I suppose," said Glyn, "in Sanskrit."
"Yes; and he's very poor, and can't get an engagement, clever as he is; and it seems very shocking for a gentleman to be so poor that he can't pay his way, and we are so rich."
"Oh, I'm not," said Glyn, laughing.
"Yes, you are, while that poor fellow can hardly pay the rent of his room, and he confessed to me--I didn't ask him--but he was so anxious to tell me why he had not paid me that money back that--"
"Why, you haven't been lending him money, have you?" cried Glyn.
"Well--yes, a trifle. He called it lending; but when I heard from Mr Morris how badly the poor fellow was off, of course I meant it as a gift; but I couldn't tell a gentleman that it was to be so."
"Then you have been there before?"
"Yes, two or three times. Mr Morris said that it would be a kindness, for the Professor sent me messages, begging me to go and see him, as he has led such a lonely life among strangers, and he wanted to communicate to me some very interesting discoveries he had made in the Hindustani language."
"Oh," said Glyn slowly; "and did he ask you to lend him money each time you went?"
"Well, not quite. He somehow let it out how poor he was, and I felt quite hot and red to think of him being in such a condition; and Mr Morris, too, gave me a sort of hint that a trifle would be acceptable to him. And there, that's all. Why do you want to keep on bothering about it?"
"Mr Morris took you there, and talked to you like that?"
"Yes, yes, yes," cried Singh petulantly. "I told you so."
"And did he say something to you about Hindustani and Sanskrit?"
"Yes. But there, let's talk about something else."
"Directly," said Glyn. "And did he read the letters on the emeralds?"
Singh looked up at him sharply. "What made you ask that?" he said.
"I asked you," said Glyn, "because I see you took the belt with you this afternoon."
"How did you know that?" snapped out the boy.
"Why, a baby would have known it. It was plain enough when you were in such a hurry to scramble it out of sight, and were so clumsy that you showed me what it was."
"Oh!" ejaculated the boy sharply; and he stood biting his lip. "I--I--"
"There, don't stammer about it," said Glyn.
"But I felt that you would find fault with me and object."
"That's quite right," said Glyn, frowning. "I should have done so, for you promised me not to begin showing that thing about to anybody. Why will you be so weak and proud of what, after all, is only a toy?"
"It isn't a toy," cried the boy indignantly. "It is something very great and noble to possess such a--such a--"
"Showy thing," said Glyn grimly.
"You can't see it correctly," said Singh; "and I only took it that Mr Barclay, who is a great student, might read--decipher, he called it--the words engraved on the stones; and he was very grateful because I let him read them, and thanked me very much."
"But you might have remembered what I said to you about it."
"I did remember, Glynny," cried the boy warmly. "I thought of you all the time, and I even offended him at last by not doing what he wished."
"What did he wish? To get you to lend him more money?"
"No," cried Singh. "He wanted me to leave the belt with him, so that he might sit up all night and copy the inscription."
"He did?"
"Yes; and I wouldn't, because I thought you wouldn't like it, and that it wouldn't be right. But you don't know how hard it was to do. Mr Morris said, though, that I was quite right, and he told me so twice after we came away."
"But why was it hard?" asked Glyn.
"Because Mr Barclay said it would be nothing to me, and it meant so much to him. But it worried me very much, because it seemed as if I, who am so rich, would not help one who was so poor."
"I don't care," cried Glyn angrily. "You did quite right, and this Mr Barclay can't be a gentleman. If he were, he would not have pressed you so hard. It isn't as if it were a book. If that were lost, you could buy another one."
"But he said that he'd take the greatest care of it, and never let it go out of his hands till he had brought it back and delivered it to me."
"I don't care," cried Glyn. "He oughtn't to have asked you, for that belt belonged to your father, and now it belongs to you, and some day it will have to go to your successors."
"Then you think I have done quite right, Glynny?"
"Well, not quite; if you had you would have told me that you were going to take it there for the Professor to see."
"Oh, don't begin again about that," replied Singh piteously. "I told you I didn't mention it because I thought you would find fault."
"Yes, you did," said Glyn rather importantly, "and that shows that you felt you were not doing right. There, I am not going to say any more about it. I am only your companion. It isn't as if I were your guardian and had authority over you; but I am very glad that Mr Morris thought you did quite right in not leaving the belt. I wish you hadn't got it, and the old thing was safe back with all the rest of your treasures. You'd no business to want to bring it. A schoolboy doesn't want such things as that."
"Don't say any more about it, please," cried Singh piteously.
"Lock it up then, quite at the bottom of your box, and never do such a thing again. It would serve you jolly well right if you lost it."
"Oh, I say!" cried Singh.
"And promise me that if that man asks you to let him have it again you will come and tell me and go with me to the Doctor. I am sure he wouldn't like this gentleman--I suppose he is a gentleman--"
"Oh yes," said Singh thoughtfully; "he's a professional gentleman."
"Well, whatever he is," said Glyn, "I am sure the Doctor wouldn't like it."
"Look here," cried Singh eagerly, "I'll promise you, if you like, for I am getting to hate the old thing. I am tired of it, and I shall be ashamed to wear it now after all you have said, and feel as if I were dressed up for a show. You take it now, and lock it up in your drawers. You'd take more care of it than I could; add then you wouldn't bully me any more."
The boy made for his bullock-trunk; but Glyn caught him by the arm and stopped him.
"That'll do," he said.
"What do you mean?" cried Singh. "You will take care of it for me?"
"That I won't," cried Glyn, "and you ought to be ashamed to ask me to."
"Ashamed?" cried Singh, flushing. "Ashamed to put full trust in you?"
"No; but you ought to be ashamed not to be able to trust yourself. It's like saying to me, 'I am such a weak-minded noodle that I've no confidence in myself.'"
"Oh," cried Singh passionately, "there never was such a disagreeable fellow as you are. You are always bullying me about something, and you make me feel sometimes as if I quite hate you."
"Don't believe you," said Glyn, with a half-laugh.
"Well, you may then, for it's true." Then, changing his tone and drawing himself up, Singh continued, "Why, it's like telling me that I am a liar. How dare you, sir! Please have the goodness to remember who I am!"
"Don't want any remembrance for that," said Glyn coolly. "Why, who are you? My schoolfellow in the same class."
"I am the Maharajah of Dour, sir," said the boy haughtily.
"Not while you are here. You're only a schoolboy like myself, learning to be an English gentleman."
"Do you want me to strike you?" cried Singh fiercely.
"No," said Glyn coolly. "I shouldn't like you to do that."
"Then, you do remember who I am," cried Singh, swelling up metaphorically and beginning to pace the room.
"I shouldn't remember it a bit," said Glyn coolly. "But I should punch your head the same as I should any other fellow's--the same as I often have before."
"Yes, in a most cowardly way, because you were stronger and had learned more how to use those nasty old boxing-gloves, you coward!"
"Ah, well, I can't help that, you know," said Glyn coolly. "I have always felt squirmy when I have had to fight some chap for bullying you. I felt so shrinky when I had that set-to with old Slegge, till he hurt me, and then I forgot all about it. Yes, I suppose I am a bit of a coward."
Singh walked up and down the chamber with his eyes flashing and his lips twitching every now and then, while his hands opened and shut.
"Yes," he cried passionately, "you forget yourself, and you are taking advantage of me now I am over here in this nasty cold country, where it's nearly always raining, and right away from my own people, instead of being the friend that my guardian wished. But there's going to be an end of it, for I shall ask the Doctor to let me have a room to myself, and I'll go my way and you may go yours. Yes, and if it were not degrading myself I should strike you the same as I did that great bully Slegge."
"Well, do if you like. I won't go crying to the Doctor and saying, 'Please, sir, Singh hit me.'"
"It would be lowering myself, or else I would. I, as a prince, can't stoop to fight with one of my own servants."
"Well, look here," cried Glyn, "I don't want you to fight. Come on now and punch my head. I promise you that I won't hit back."
Singh advanced to him immediately with doubled fists, and Glyn stood up laughing in his face and put his hands behind him.
"No," cried Singh. "Come down the cricket-field behind the trees, and we will take two of the fellows with us and have it out, for I am sick of it, and I'll put up with no more."
"All right," said Glyn coolly. "But lock that belt up first at the bottom of your box or where it's safest."
"Not I," cried Singh loftily. "I can't stop to think of a few rubbishing gems when my honour's at stake like this."
"Well," said Glyn, "if you won't, I must;" and, crossing to the trunk, he opened it, saw that the belt-case was right down in one corner below some clothes, banged down the lid, locked it up, and offered Singh the keys.
"Bah!" ejaculated the boy, and he turned away.
"Let's see," said Glyn, in the most imperturbable, good-humoured way; "we'll have Burney and one of the other big chaps. I'll have Burney. What do you say to Slegge?"
Singh made no reply, but stood scowling out of the window.
"But I say, the first thing will be that they will ask what the row's about. What were we quarrelling for, Singhy?"
There was no reply.
"Oh, I remember," continued Glyn. "Because I bullied you about showing off with that belt. Well, we can't say anything about that. What shall we say? Look here, how would it be to go down the field together and fall out all at once, and you hit me, and I'll hit you back, and then we will rush at one another, calling names, and the fellows will come up to see what's the matter, and then we will fight."
"Ur-r-r-r-r-ur!" growled Singh, rushing at him with clenched fists; but as he saw the good-humoured twinkle in his companion's eyes, the boy stopped short, and his clenched fists dropped to his sides. "You are laughing at me," he said; "laughing in your nasty, cold-blooded English way."
"Well, isn't it enough to make a fellow laugh? Here are you trying to get up a quarrel about nothing, and threatening to break with me, when you know you don't mean it all the time."
"I do mean it!" raged out the boy. "For you have insulted me cruelly."
"Ah, that's what you say now, Singhy; but before you go to bed to-night you will be as vexed with yourself as can be, and wish you had not said what you have. You will feel then that I have only spoken to you just as the dad would if he had been here. And then what would you have done? Looked at him for a minute like a tiger with its claws all spread out, and the next minute you would have done what you always did do."
"What was that?" cried the boy fiercely.
"Held out your hand and said, 'I am sorry. I was wrong.'"
Singh turned away and walked to the window, to stand looking out for a few minutes before turning back; and then he walked up to Glyn and said: "Come down into the cricket-field."
"To have it out?" said Glyn quietly.
"Oh, Glynny!" cried the boy, and he held out his hand. _