“Yes, that’s a grand sword,” cried Glyn, with his eyes sparkling. “I should like to have that.”
Singh laughed mockingly.
“Why, you are as bad as I am,” he cried.
“That I am not! Why, if I had it, do you think I should buckle it on to go and see a country wild-beast show?”
“Well, no, I don’t suppose you would,” said Singh quietly, as he gravely replaced the emeralds in their receptacle and curled the belt around them before shutting down the velvet-lined and quilted cover with a loud snap. “But some day, when we have both grown older, and we are back in India—I mean when I am at home in state and you are one of my officers—you will have to get the Colonel to let you wear it then.”
“Ah,” said Glyn, slowly and thoughtfully, “some day; but that’s a long time off. I suppose I shall be a soldier like the dad is, and in your army.”
“Why, of course,” cried Singh. “You will be my greatest general, just the same as your father was when mine was alive. He was always a great general there, though he was only colonel in the Company’s army. There, I suppose you are right. I like to look at that belt, but I won’t show it about; but I say, Glyn, I shall be glad when we get older and have both begun learning to be—no, what do you call it?—not learning—I mean, being taught to be soldiers.”
“Training,” said Glyn.
“Yes, training—that’s it; and we shall go together to that place where your father was, not far from London. You know—the place he used to talk to us about, where he was trained before he came out to India.”
“Addiscombe,” said Glyn quietly, as he stood watching his companion thrust the case back into the bottom of the portmanteau and rearrange the garments he had moved, while his hand lingered for a few moments about a soft white robe, which he covered over with a sigh before closing the lid and turning the key of the great leather case.