“Yes, I did,” cried Glyn, who was also hastily dressing. “Not give you advice! Why, didn’t I just now tell you I was quite sure the Doctor would not let you keep him for a pet?”
“Look here,” snarled Singh, “you’ll make me angry directly,” and he glanced viciously at his water-jug.
“Can’t,” cried Glyn. “You’re so cross now I couldn’t make you any worse. But, I say, what are you going to do?”
“I don’t know,” replied Singh. “Take it home, I suppose. I came here to England to be educated and made into an English gentleman, not to be turned into a low-caste mahout.”
“Oh, what’s the good of being so waxy? Look at the fun of the thing! Here, I know; let’s finish dressing, and then send old Wrench to tell Mr Ramball that we have found his elephant, or that he has found us.”
“But he won’t be up till it’s time to ring the six o’clock bell. What time is it now?”
“I don’t know. About half-past one, I should think,” cried Glyn, laughing merrily.
“There you go again! You know it must be much later than that. Yet you will keep on saying things to make me wild. Are you going to help me get out of this dreadful scrape?”
“It isn’t your scrape. It’s only an accident. You talked to the beast in the old language, and it came after you again, just like a dog after its own master.”
“Look here,” said Singh, “do you know where Wrench sleeps?”