“I hope so—a long way ahead,” I replied, smiling.
“Of course. I knew it,” he said, as he let fall the tube of his pipe, and grasped my arm. “It would be long years before you could command a troop?”
“Oh yes—long, long years.”
“And you would be quite an old man before you became a general?”
“Perhaps never,” I said, wondering at his eagerness, and yet feeling something akin to a suspicion of his aim.
“Then why wish to go?” he said, with a smile.
“Why wish to go?” I replied. “I do not understand you.”
“I say, why wish to go and compete with hundreds of others who would not understand you, and any one of whom might carry off the prize—when you can stay with me?”
“Stay with you! What for?” I faltered.
“I will make you a general, now—at once,” he said excitedly, “and ten thousand men shall bend down before their Moslem rajah’s friend, who, from this time forward, will lead and direct my artillery.”