They went out for a stroll about the barracks, which meant a look in at the horses, when Burnouse acknowledged his new master’s presence with a whinny whose friendly sound was spoiled by an ugly, vicious way of laying back his ears.
“Don’t do that, stupid,” growled Wyatt; “I’m not going to hit you with a pitchfork. Think he’s better now that Dondy Lal’s gone?”
“I’m sure he is,” said Dick.
“That’s right. Let’s go and have a look at the elephants. Wonder whether we shall have them with us. I like elephants.”
They strolled over to the great stables where the huge beasts were chained by one leg to short, picket-like posts, and stood swaying their heads about and writhing their trunks.
Dick’s friend held out his proboscis directly, but the lad had nothing for him, and the great beast seemed to understand it and to be friendly all the same, passing the end of his soft trunk about the visitors’ arms, and suffering it to be held before the pair went away.
“Yes,” said Wyatt in his big, simple way, “I like elephants. Wouldn’t mind keeping one for a pet, even if he ruined me for his prog. I do wish, though, they went to a better tailor’s.”
“Went where?” cried Dick, laughing.
“Better tailor’s. Their trousers never seem to fit.”
Dick and his big friend parted soon after, Wyatt having an appointment to see Hulton about some business connected with the troop, leaving Dick with two important matters to think about—the possibility of going up-country and seeing service, and the horror of the punishment to be meted out to a man in whom he could not help taking a great deal of interest. He went over these themes for some time, connecting the former with the sword that he meant to have sent to the armourer that day.