“Yes, and instead of helping me in my trouble, and saying a few words to comfort me, you call me names.”
“Yes, but I didn’t call you a beast. Is it being a friend to hide the truth from you and let you snuggle yourself up with a lot of sham? Answer me this: would a fresh belt be anything more than an imitation?”
“No, I suppose not,” groaned Singh. “I am a prince, and going to be very rich some day, and rule over my people, with a little army of my own, and elephants, and everything any one could wish for; but I am not a bit clever, except at wicket-keeping. I haven’t got half such a head as you have, Glyn, and such a head as I have got is now all muddled and full of what you may call it.”
“Brains,” said Glyn cynically.
“No, no; I don’t mean that,” said Singh piteously. “Don’t tease me, old chap; I am so miserable. I mean, my head’s full of that stuff, I don’t remember what you call it—I mean what you have when you are very sorry for something you have done.”
“Misery?”
“No, no. Here, I remember—remorse. I know well enough now, though I don’t like owning it, that if I had done as you told me, and taken care always to lock it up, that belt wouldn’t be gone.”
“Well, it’s too late to talk about that,” said Glyn, “and it’s no use to cry over spilt milk. You have got to face it all out with the dad when he comes, and take your blowing-up like a man.”
“I can’t. I shall do just as I said, and even if it isn’t going to be the same belt,” cried the boy passionately, “I shall give your father orders. Yes, I can see you sneering. Orders, orders,” he repeated, with increased emphasis, “to have a new one made.”
Glyn threw himself back on his bed, and gave his heels a kick in the air. “Ho, ho! ha, ha!” he roared with laughter. “What a game! Mind and do it when I am there. I should like to see you jump on a fence and cry ‘Cock-a-doodle-doo’ at my father. Fancy you playing the haughty prince to him! Why, he’d stare at you. You know his way. And he’d take a grab of his moustache in each hand and pull it out straight before he began; and then he’d get up out of his chair, take hold of you by one of your ears, lead you back, and put you between his knees as he seated himself again. And then he’d talk, and at the first word he said, he’d blow all the haughty wind out of you, and you’d curl up like a— oh, I don’t know what. It’s nonsense to try and think of similes, for you’d never say what you pretend.”