He pronounced it Sool-tann.
“Ah, yes!” cried Singh, with his eyes flashing now. “I do, I do! instead of being shut up in this old school to be bullied by a boy like that. I should like to knock his head off.”
“No, you wouldn’t. There, don’t think anything more about it. He isn’t worth your notice.”
“No, I suppose not,” said the Indian boy;—“but what makes me so angry is that he despises me, and has treated me ever since we came here as if I were his inferior. It is not the first time he has called me a nigger.—There, I won’t think anything more about it. Tell me, what’s this grand procession to-day? Is it to be like a durbar at home, when all the rajahs and nawabs come together with their elephants and trains?”
“Oh, no, no, no!” cried Glyn, laughing. “Nothing of the kind.”
“Then, why are they making all this fuss? It said on the bills we saw yesterday in the town, ‘Ramball’s Wild-Beast Show. Grand Procession.’”
“I don’t know much about it,” said Glyn; “only here in England in country places they make a great fuss over things like this. I asked Wrench yesterday, and he said that this was a menagerie belonging to a man who lives near and keeps his wild-beasts at a big farm-like place just outside the town.”
“But why a procession?” said Singh impatiently.
“Oh, he takes them all round the country, going from town to town, and they are away for months, and now they are coming back.”
“Menagerie! beast show!” said Singh thoughtfully. “They are all tame, of course?”