"You are right in some things, Mr. Douglas," said the sonorous voice suddenly: "I'd ask no finer soldiers than some of those against us. By and by, unless I'm wrong, men of their stock will be our best war weapons; for, mind you, war is a primitive art and needs a primitive people. And the country isn't against us. If it were, we shouldn't be standing here. It is too busy plowing, Mr. Douglas; this rain is points in our favor. As for the women and children--poor souls"--his voice softened infinitely--"they have been in our way terribly; but--we shall fight all the better for that, by and by. Meanwhile we have got to smash Delhi. The odds are bigger than they were first. But Baird Smith will sap us in somehow, and then----" He paused, looking kindly at Jim Douglas, and said, "You had better stop and go in with--with the rest of us."
"I think not, sir----"
"Why? Because of that poor lady? Woman again--eh?"
"In a way; besides, I really have nothing else to do."
John Nicholson looked at him for a moment from head to foot; then said sharply:
"I didn't know, sir. I give my personal staff plenty of work."
For an instant the offer took his hearer's breath away, and he stood silent.
"I'm afraid not, sir," he said at last, though from the first he had known what his answer would be. "I--I can't, that's the fact. I was cashiered from the army fifteen years ago."
General Nicholson stepped back, with sheer anger in his face. "Then what do you mean, sir, by wearing Her Majesty's uniform?"
Jim Douglas looked down hastily on old Tiddu's staff properties, which he had quite forgotten. They had passed muster in the darkness of the tent, but here, in the sunlight, looked inconceivably worn, and shabby, and unreal. He smiled rather bitterly; then held out his sleeve to show the braiding.