“Yes, but whacked, and all the other tribes ready to follow the example of those fellows who have come down to make peace and fight against the rest who hold out. They’re not fools.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Bracy. “They’re as keen as men can be; but I shouldn’t like to trust them.”
“Nor I,” said Roberts. “They’re too keen.”
“There you are,” said Drummond petulantly. “That’s the Englishman all over. You fellows keep the poor beggars at a distance, and that makes them wild when they want to be friends. If every one had acted in that spirit, where should we have been all through India?”
“Same place as we are now,” said Bracy, laughing.
“Right, old fellow,” said Roberts. “We’ve conquered the nation, and the people feel that they’re a conquered race, and will never feel quite reconciled to our rule.”
“Well, I don’t know,” said Bracy. “I’m not very well up in these matters, but I think there are hundreds of thousands in India who do like our rule; for it is firm and just, and keeps down the constant fighting of the past.”
“Bother!” cried Drummond pettishly: “there’s no arguing against you two beggars. You’re so pig-headed. Never mind all that. These thingamy Dwats have come down to make peace—haven’t they?”
“You thought otherwise,” said Bracy, laughing. “But, by the way, if we two are pig-headed, aren’t you rather hoggish—hedge-hoggish? I never met such a spiky young Scot before.”
“Scotland for ever!” cried Drummond, tossing his pith helmet in the air and catching it again.