“No,” said Glyn coolly. “I shouldn’t like you to do that.”
“Then, you do remember who I am,” cried Singh, swelling up metaphorically and beginning to pace the room.
“I shouldn’t remember it a bit,” said Glyn coolly. “But I should punch your head the same as I should any other fellow’s—the same as I often have before.”
“Yes, in a most cowardly way, because you were stronger and had learned more how to use those nasty old boxing-gloves, you coward!”
“Ah, well, I can’t help that, you know,” said Glyn coolly. “I have always felt squirmy when I have had to fight some chap for bullying you. I felt so shrinky when I had that set-to with old Slegge, till he hurt me, and then I forgot all about it. Yes, I suppose I am a bit of a coward.”
Singh walked up and down the chamber with his eyes flashing and his lips twitching every now and then, while his hands opened and shut.
“Yes,” he cried passionately, “you forget yourself, and you are taking advantage of me now I am over here in this nasty cold country, where it’s nearly always raining, and right away from my own people, instead of being the friend that my guardian wished. But there’s going to be an end of it, for I shall ask the Doctor to let me have a room to myself, and I’ll go my way and you may go yours. Yes, and if it were not degrading myself I should strike you the same as I did that great bully Slegge.”
“Well, do if you like. I won’t go crying to the Doctor and saying, ‘Please, sir, Singh hit me.’”
“It would be lowering myself, or else I would. I, as a prince, can’t stoop to fight with one of my own servants.”
“Well, look here,” cried Glyn, “I don’t want you to fight. Come on now and punch my head. I promise you that I won’t hit back.”