“I don’t care whether it is or not,” said Singh fiercely. “Let’s go, and if you won’t fight, I will.”
“Look here, Singhy; you and I have had lots of wrestles, haven’t we?”
“Yes; but what’s that got to do with it?”
“Why, this. I am not bragging; but I have more muscle in my arms than you have, and if I like I can put you on your back at any time.”
“Ur–r–r–r–r–ur!” growled Singh.
“That means you own it. Well now, look here; if you try to get away from me I’ll put you down on your back and sit upon you till you grow cool.”
“Do if you dare!” cried Singh.
Glyn closed with him on the instant. There was a short struggle. The young Indian prince was laid neatly upon his back almost without an effort on the part of Glyn, who the next moment was seated calmly astride his companion’s chest, fortunately well out of sight of the group beneath the elms. Then for a few minutes Singh heaved and struggled, glaring the while into his companion’s eyes, until, as if he had caught the contagion of the good-humoured smile in Glyn’s frank young face, a change came over Singh’s, and the fierce heaving gave way to a movement that was certainly the beginning of a laugh, followed by a good-humoured appeal.
“Let me get up, Glyn. I am quite quiet now,” said the boy.
“No games?”