“Yes,” said Singh thoughtfully; “he’s always right; but did he say that?”
“Well, not quite,” said Glyn, laughing; and Singh looked at him suspiciously. “What he said was that the grandest thing in life was to be a boy.”
“Ah,” cried Singh argumentatively, “but that is very different. A man can do what he likes, but a boy can’t.”
“Oh, but a boy’s a young man, or is going to be. I mean to be always glad that I am a boy, for father says that when I grow up to be a man I shall be often wishing that I was young again. Now, don’t let’s go on worrying about this and the old belt. You never wore it, and if it hadn’t been lost I don’t believe you ever would have used it. You see, after living in England you’ll have learned that great English people never dress up except on some grand day when Parliament’s going to be opened or somebody’s going to be crowned; and then noblemen, I suppose, put on robes and wear their coronets. You’d never have wanted the belt.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Singh. “Of course I shall always dress like an Englishman; but I suppose sometimes, by-and-by, I shall have to dress up to show myself to my people.”
“Oh yes, just once in a way, and when you are going to meet the other chiefs; but I’ll bet sixpence you will soon be glad enough to take the things off again.”
“But I say,” cried Singh, “look here. What about soldiers and officers? They dress up pretty grandly.”
“Well, yes,” said Glyn laughingly; “we are obliged to make them look nice, or they wouldn’t care about going shooting people and cutting off heads. Now, promise me you won’t worry any more about the belt.”
“Well, I will try,” cried Singh, “and I shouldn’t have bothered about it so much now, only every fellow in the school looks at me as if he were thinking about it all the time.”
“Don’t believe it,” said Glyn. “You fancy he does. There now, let it go. Here, come and have a turn at something.”