“No,” said the boy sadly; “that will not be for years to come.—Huh!” he cried to the elephant, as he removed his foot and drew back. “You’re a fine old beast after all.”
The monster rose at his command, and stood blinking at him and swinging his trunk to and fro.
“Mind, sir!” shouted Ramball, who had been looking on anxiously. “Don’t you trust him. He’s brewing mischief. He always is when he looks quiet like that; and the way he can knock you over with that trunk—my word!”
“Oh, he’s not going to knock me over with his trunk,” said Singh, smiling; and, uttering a few words in Hindustani, he stood close up to the elephant and reached one hand up to its great ear and laid the other upon its trunk.
“Salaam, Maharajah!” he cried, and the animal threw up its head, curled up its trunk, and trumpeted loudly, before going down upon its knees before the lad.
“Good! Up again!” cried Singh in Hindustani, and added a few more words, the result of which was that the monster stood calmly by its great picket-peg, making its chain jingle as it began slowly swaying its head from side to side again.
“Well done, sir!” cried Ramball. “Thank you, sir. You’ll shake hands with me, won’t you?”
“Oh yes,” said Singh quietly; “I’ll shake hands,” and he extended his own.
“You are a gentleman and no mistake,” cried the man. “I say, think that offer of mine over. I’ll make it worth your while. I will, honour bright!”
Singh shook his head gravely, and there was a mocking smile upon his lip.