“Oh,” said Glyn, in a most imperturbable manner, fighting hard the while, though, to keep his countenance as he realised the strength of the shot he was about to send at his malicious persecutor, “he asked Singh and me to come and meet the masters and dine with him to-night.”
Chapter Nine.
The New Professor.
“Let ’em go,” snarled Slegge to his courtiers. “It’s only another way of getting a hard lesson. I know what the Doctor’s dinner-parties are. Let the stuck-up young brutes go. But if I wasn’t about to leave the blessed old school I would jolly soon let the Doctor know that this sort of thing won’t do. The old humbug told me once that fairplay was a jewel. I don’t call it fairplay to be currying favour with a new boy because he’s an Indian prince. Indian prince, indeed! Indian bear—cub; that’s what I call him, with his leader, currying favour like that! Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Haw, haw!”
This was a melodramatic laugh of the most sarcastic description, prefatory to the letting off of a very ponderous joke. “Currying! Indian curry! That’s what he was brought up on. Curry and rice instead of pap. Look at the colour of his skin. But only wait a bit,” continued Slegge darkly. “Just wait till the right time comes, and I’ll let you all see.”
But the Doctor’s dinner-party was not quite so ponderous and learned as usual, for the incidents of the day formed the main topic of conversation. The Doctor was in high good-humour, and naturally felt rather proud of his pupils. They had distinguished themselves, and in so doing had distinguished him and his school, and the consequence was that the masters readily took up the subject and were most warm and friendly to the two lads, the other guest in particular, Professor Barclay, as Morris took care that he should be called, much to the annoyance of the classical master, who looked at the new-comer, Morris’s friend, rather suspiciously, regarding him as one likely to poach upon his preserves.
During the dinner, the Professor had much to say about Sanskrit, military colleges, and India, and was very attentive to Singh and Glyn, but found the boys quiet and retiring in the extreme.
All, however, seemed to be enjoying themselves but Mr Rampson, who grew more uneasy and suspicious over the coffee, pricking up his ears as he bent over his cup and kept on stirring it, but without drinking, while the Doctor and the Professor were talking together as if discussing some subject in a low tone.