“Yes, of course,” said Glyn. “It said lions and tigers and elephants and camels, and a lot more things on the bills. I should like to see them.”
“You English are a wonderful people. My father used to have tigers—three of them—a tiger, a tigress, and a nearly full-grown cub. But they were so fierce he got tired of keeping them, and when the tigress killed one of the keepers, you remember, he asked your father about it, and they settled that it would be best to kill them.”
“Of course, I remember,” said Glyn; “and they had a tiger-hunt, and let one out at a time, and had beaters to drive them out of the nullahs, and shot all three.”
“Yes,” said Singh thoughtfully; “and my father wouldn’t let me go with him on his elephant, because he said it wouldn’t be safe. Then these will all be tame tigers and lions? Well, I shall like to see them all the same, because it will make me feel like being at home once more. I say, when is your father coming down again?”
“Don’t know,” said Glyn quietly. “I did ask in my last weekly letter.”
“Ah!” said the Indian boy with a sigh, “I wish I were you.”
“Well, let’s change,” said Glyn laughing. “You envy me! Why, I ought to envy you.”
“Why?” said Singh, staring.
“Why, because you are a maharajah, a prince; and when you grow old enough you are going back to Dour to rule over your subjects and be one of the biggest pots in Southern India.”
“Well, what of that?” said Singh quietly. “What good will that do me? But of course the Colonel will come too.”