“A family heirloom, then,” said the Doctor in a tone which showed his interest. “Now I understand,” and he smiled pleasantly. “I hope that ‘he is not foolish enough to wear it at any time.’—Of course; hardly an article of ornament for a young scholar to wear, Mr Singh.”
“No, sir,” replied the boy. “That’s what Glyn said.”
“And very properly,” continued the Doctor, giving the lad in question a friendly nod.
“And that I was not to show it to anybody, sir.”
“Quite right, Mr Singh, and I am very glad to hear that your schoolfellow displays a wisdom beyond his years. You see, the world is far from perfection; and weak, wicked, foolish people might have their cupidity excited by the sight of such an object, with results that would be extremely painful to every one here. May I ask, then—by the way—is this belt attractive-looking?”
“Yes, sir, very handsome,” said Glyn. “It is meant to bear a jewelled sword.”
“Dear me!” cried the Doctor. “I hope that Mr Singh has no lethal weapon of that kind in his room.”
“Oh no, sir,” said Singh hastily.
“I am glad to hear it,” said the Doctor, smiling; and he took up and raised his quill-pen, giving it a gentle nourish in the air. “Remember, my dear boy, what one of our writers has said: that the pen is mightier than the sword. And where may this handsome belt be?”
“Locked up in the bottom of my trunk that I brought from India, sir.”