'Dinner, when that is before me! Look out, man, and be ashamed of yourself!'
'If my lord will not eat, he will die,' said the Indian servant humbly, 'and then what use will these mountains do him?'
'Fine logic!' said Tom, laughing. 'And, strange to say, convincing.'
Hoosanee led the way to the table, which was at the door of his young master's tent. A dinner that would have satisfied the requirements of an alderman was spread out; but Tom was too much excited to do it full justice. 'A pity!' he said, as he pushed the untasted dishes away. 'But it can't be helped. Don't look so doleful, Hoosanee. I have taken enough, I believe, to keep me from dying until to-morrow.' Hoosanee bent his head, and was turning away. Tom called him back. 'Come here,' he said, leading him to a little distance from the camp, 'I have something to ask you.'
'It is time your Excellency should rest.'
'Leave that to my excellent self, Hoosanee, and do as I tell you. Now, then, sit down! This is a quiet corner, where none of them will see or hear us. Don't crouch, man; sit! and don't, for heaven's sake, look at me in that pitiful way, as if you thought I was bent on committing suicide to-morrow! I can assure you I have a thousand reasons for wishing to live a little longer. But tell me—why do you take such an interest in me?'
'Am I not my lord's servant?' said Hoosanee in a troubled voice.
'Of course you are; but that doesn't account for it altogether. Can love and devotion like yours spring up in a day?' The bantering tone in which Tom had begun to catechise his servant had gone. He was very much in earnest.
'The faithful servant is born, not made,' said Hoosanee.
'That is no answer,' persisted Tom. 'Speak to me plainly. Is it for my own sake or for the sake of others that you are so anxious about my safety?'