“No,” said Dick, leaning back and gazing at the dimly-seen window. “We don’t want it here.”
“Why not? Cool the air. And a heavy rain would wash the streets; they don’t smell very nice. Lay the dust, lad; it’s choking.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the rain, but the lightning.”
“What of that?”
“The powder-magazine.”
“Humph! Ha! Yes; send us all flying if that blew up, Dick. Unfortunate, too. No knowing how long the fresh lot will be coming. We shouldn’t be of much use to the Rajah without our guns. But we mustn’t meet troubles half-way; the storm isn’t here yet.”
“What are we going to do to-morrow?”
“Drill,” said Wyatt shortly.
“We drilled yesterday and again to-day,” said Dick wearily. “Oh, I say, how hot it is with that window shut!”
“Yes, dear boy, it is hot. I feel like a mouse in a baker’s oven.”