“I don’t see why one shouldn’t wear a thing like this,” said Singh. “My father always used to wear it out at home wherever he went, even when he wore nothing else but a long white muslin robe. On grand Court days he would be covered with jewels, and his turban was full of diamonds.”
“Yes,” said Glyn drily and with a half-contemptuous smile upon his lips; “but that was in India, where all the rajahs and princes wear such things.”
“Well,” said the boy proudly, “I am still a maharajah, even if I have come to England to be educated; so why shouldn’t I put on a belt like this on a grand day if I like?”
Glyn took the brilliant belt from his companion’s hand and held it towards the light, inspecting curiously the beautiful gems, which were of a lustrous green marked with flaws.
“Ah,” he said, “it looks nice, and is worth a lot of money I suppose.”
“Of course,” said the young Indian; and he added haughtily, “I shouldn’t wear it if it were not.”
“Well, you can’t wear it,” said Glyn, passing the embroidered leather through his hands and turning it over in the bright sunlight which came through the window.
“But why?” cried Singh, frowning slightly at having his will challenged.
“Well,” said Glyn, “first of all, as I told you, because the boys would laugh at you.”
“They dare not,” cried the boy proudly.