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 pa.s.sionately, "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 cla.s.s."

"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 pa.s.sionately, "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!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed 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.

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

SINGH FINDS FLANNEL TOO HOT, AND--

There was a game going on in the cricket-field, a sort of French and English affair, which necessitated a good deal of running, and proved to be very hot work; and in an interval of rest, when the boys were gathered together under the elms, Singh threw himself down, panting and half-exhausted, crying: "Oh, I wish to goodness I had something else on but this hot flannel! Here, I know. I'll go and change it for my silk."

He left the group of companions, walked slowly along under the row of elms, and came suddenly upon Glyn, who was playing on the opposing side.

"Hallo!" cried the latter anxiously. "What a face! Aren't you well?"