“What, run away?”
“Yes,” cried Singh, “and stop away till my guardian writes to me and begs of me to come back; and then I shall make terms, and not give way till he promises that he won’t say another word about the belt.”
Glyn chuckled to himself softly. “How are you going to make terms?” he said.
“I shall write to him,” cried Singh importantly.
“Without giving any address?” said Glyn, with a mirthful look dancing in his eye.
“What rubbish! Why, of course I shall put my address, so that he can write to me again—”
“And then he won’t write to you,” said Glyn. “He’ll come to you and fetch you back with a flea in your ear.”
“Oh, you are a brute!” cried Singh viciously. “And I feel as if I could— No, I won’t. I shall treat you with contempt.”
“That’s right; do. I say, you are comforting me nicely, aren’t you? Pig! disagreeable old jungle-pig! That’s what you are.”
“Well, why don’t you help me then? What am I to do?”