Glyn Severn's Schooldays Part 19

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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sing 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 flas.h.i.+ng 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.