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Glyn Severn's Schooldays, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
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Chapter 33. Between Boys |
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_ CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. BETWEEN BOYS "Oh, I say, what a lovely morning!" Glyn, who had lain awake half the night, woke up with a start, to see Singh standing barefooted by the window, which he had just thrown wide open to let in the joyous sunshine and the soft sweet air. "Yes, jolly," he cried, inhaling a deep breath. "No! Most miserable morning I ever saw," and he sank back sitting on the edge of his bed, to utter a deep groan. Singh sprang to his side in an instant. "Glyn, old chap, what's the matter? Are you ill?" "Yes, horribly. In my head. Oh, I say! I couldn't sleep for ever so long last night for thinking about it." "Then why didn't you wake me, old fellow? I'd have dressed directly and gone and told the Doctor." "What about?" "You being so ill." "Bah!" cried Glyn angrily. "It isn't salts and senna. What a fellow you are! You don't mean to say that you'd forgotten that the dad's coming down to-day?" Singh plumped himself down on the carpet like a native of Dour, untroubled by clothes, with his knees nearly to his ears and his crossed hands before him resting on the floor, while his face lost its sympathetic expression and puckered up into one of misery and despair. "Yes, I had," he said, with a groan; "all about it. Here," he cried passionately, "I won't be treated like a schoolboy! I am a prince and a chief, and the belt was mine. It's gone, and I won't be bullied about it by any one." "Not even by your guardian, eh?" "Not even by my guardian," cried the boy haughtily. "If Colonel Severn says anything to me about it I shall tell him I won't hear another word, and that he is to go to the best jeweller in London and order another exactly like the one that has been stolen." "Of course," said Glyn solemnly. "It'll be as easy as kissing your hand, and they'll know at once how to engrave the emeralds with the old Sanskrit inscription, and make the belt of the same kind of leather, so beautifully soft, dull, and yellow; and there are plenty of people in London who can do that Indian embroidery." Singh nodded his head shortly. "Bah! You jolly old Tom Noodle!" continued Glyn; "why, even if they could get as big emeralds and manage somehow to have the exact words of the inscription cut, would it be the same old belt and stones as came down from the past, and that your father used to wear?" Singh's eyes dilated and his lips parted. "No," he said with a groan. "Oh, Glynny, what a beast you are! And you call yourself my friend!" "Never," cried Glyn. "It was you said I was." "Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to comfort me, you call me names." "Yes, but I didn't call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham? Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?" "No, I suppose not," groaned Singh. "I am a prince, and going to be very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven't got half such a head as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and full of what you may call it." "Brains," said Glyn cynically. "No, no; I don't mean that," said Singh piteously. "Don't tease me, old chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head's full of that stuff, I don't remember what you call it--I mean what you have when you are very sorry for something you have done." "Misery?" "No, no. Here, I remember--remorse. I know well enough now, though I don't like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care always to lock it up, that belt wouldn't be gone." "Well, it's too late to talk about that," said Glyn, "and it's no use to cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man." "I can't. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn't going to be the same belt," cried the boy passionately, "I shall give your father orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders," he repeated, with increased emphasis, "to have a new one made." Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the air. "Ho, ho! ha, ha!" he roared with laughter. "What a game! Mind and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and cry 'Cock-a-doodle-doo' at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty prince to him! Why, he'd stare at you. You know his way. And he'd take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight before he began; and then he'd get up out of his chair, take hold of you by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he seated himself again. And then he'd talk, and at the first word he said, he'd blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you'd curl up like a--oh, I don't know what. It's nonsense to try and think of similes, for you'd never say what you pretend." "Well, then, I shall bolt, as you call it," cried Singh. "I won't face him. I can't face him." "Why?" "Because I am too proud I suppose, and the Colonel isn't my master." "I say, Singhy, get off the stilts, old chap, and be a man over it. You know what the dad always used to say to both of us: 'A fellow who has done wrong and owns up like a man is half-forgiven at once.'" "Oh yes, I recollect. But do help me now, I am in such trouble." "You are in no worse trouble than I am." "Oh yes, I am. You are not to blame, for you did tell me to be careful; and though I didn't like it at the time, I can see now how right you were." "Yes; but I wasn't half right enough. I ought to have made you tell the Doctor what you'd got in the box, and then he'd have insisted upon its being kept in a safer place." "But I wouldn't have given it up," cried Singh angrily. "Oh yes, you would," continued Glyn; "and I feel now that I ought to have gone straight to the Doctor and told about your going to see Professor Barclay." "No, you oughtn't, and you wouldn't have been such a sneak. Besides, it would have been getting poor Mr Morris into trouble, too, for taking me there. Did you want him to lose his place?" "Well, no," said Glyn thoughtfully. "And as to my going to see Professor Barclay and lending him a little money now and then--I mean, giving it--it was my own money, and what's the good of having money if you don't do good with it?" "Well," said Glyn thoughtfully, "there is something in that," and the boy seemed yielding to his companion's attack. Singh realised this, and pressed it home. "I am sure it was doing more good with my allowance than you do with yours, always stuffing yourself with fruit and sweets and things." "That I am not!" cried Glyn indignantly. "Yes, you are. Why, you have got quite half of that big three-shilling cake in your box now." "Oh, but that was to eat of a night when we came to bed and felt as if we ought to have a little more supper." "Oh, bother!" cried Singh angrily. "What shall I do. Here, I know. I shall go." "What, run away?" "Yes," cried Singh, "and stop away till my guardian writes to me and begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way till he promises that he won't say another word about the belt." Glyn chuckled to himself softly. "How are you going to make terms?" he said. "I shall write to him," cried Singh importantly. "Without giving any address?" said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in his eye. "What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can write to me again--" "And then he won't write to you," said Glyn. "He'll come to you and fetch you back with a flea in your ear." "Oh, you are a brute!" cried Singh viciously. "And I feel as if I could--No, I won't. I shall treat you with contempt." "That's right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren't you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That's what you are." "Well, why don't you help me then? What am I to do?" "Get dressed, I think," said Glyn. "Don't be what old Brohanne calls a _bete_--big fool. Do as I do. Go and have it out with the dad, and get out of one's misery. He won't be very hard." "Oh, if it was only a good--good--good--What's that you say?" "Bullying?" "No, no. It was a bit of slang, and I like to use bits of English slang when I can; they'll be so useful to know by-and-by when I am scolding my people. Not bullying, but--" "Oh, you mean tongue-thrashing?" said Glyn. "Yes, that's it, tongue-thrashing. I wouldn't mind then. I feel so ashamed of myself." "All right. So do I, I suppose, for making a mess of it when I wanted the dad to think that I had managed you so well that I was making myself fit to be your friend and companion when we both grew up to be men." The next minute the lads were busy making their preparations to descend for a little study before the breakfast-bell should ring; and as he washed and dressed, Glyn's brow looked wrinkled and cloudy, for he was thinking very seriously all the while. On the other hand, Singh dressed himself as if he had a quarrel with everything. He chipped the edge of the basin as he handled the ewer, dropped the lid of the soap-dish with a clatter, and as he washed himself he burst out with an angry ejaculation, for the wet soap was gripped so tightly and viciously that it flew out of his hand as if in fear, and dived right under the bed to the farthest end, where it had to be hunted out and retrieved, covered with the flue that had been forgotten by one of the maids; while the way in which he finished off with his towel was harsh enough to produce a smarting sensation upon his skin. _ |
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