Singh advanced to him immediately with doubled fists, and Glyn stood up laughing in his face and put his hands behind him.
“No,” cried Singh. “Come down the cricket-field behind the trees, and we will take two of the fellows with us and have it out, for I am sick of it, and I’ll put up with no more.”
“All right,” said Glyn coolly. “But lock that belt up first at the bottom of your box or where it’s safest.”
“Not I,” cried Singh loftily. “I can’t stop to think of a few rubbishing gems when my honour’s at stake like this.”
“Well,” said Glyn, “if you won’t, I must;” and, crossing to the trunk, he opened it, saw that the belt-case was right down in one corner below some clothes, banged down the lid, locked it up, and offered Singh the keys.
“Bah!” ejaculated the boy, and he turned away.
“Let’s see,” said Glyn, in the most imperturbable, good-humoured way; “we’ll have Burney and one of the other big chaps. I’ll have Burney. What do you say to Slegge?”
Singh made no reply, but stood scowling out of the window.
“But I say, the first thing will be that they will ask what the row’s about. What were we quarrelling for, Singhy?”
There was no reply.