“Humph! Brute! And so, after putting up with a good deal, and obeying my orders till he couldn’t stand it any longer, Glyn took your part and thrashed the fellow, eh?”
“Yes, sir, bravely,” cried Singh, with his eyes flashing. “I wish you’d been there to see.”
“I wish—”
The Colonel stopped short. “No, no. Tut, tut! Nonsense! I did not want to see. Here, hold out your hands, Glyn. No, no, not like that. Double your fists. Hold them out straight. I want to look at your knuckles. Dreadful! Nice state for a gentleman’s hands. Fighting’s bad.—Do you hear, Singh? Very bad. But I must confess that I didn’t get through school without a turn-up or two myself. Glyn took your part, then, and thrashed the fellow. Well, he won’t bully either of you again. Yes, I got into my scrapes when I was a boy; but you know times were different then. Everything was rougher. This sort of thing won’t do. You must be more of gentlemen now—more polished. Fighting’s bad.”
“But you let the sergeant, father, teach us how to use the gloves after you had got them over from England.”
“Eh? What, sir—what sir?” cried the Colonel sharply. “Well, yes, I did. It was a bit of a lapse, though, and every man makes mistakes. But that, you see, was part of my old education, and through being in India so many years and away from modern civilisation, and er— Of course, I remember; it was after your poor father had been talking to me, Singh, and telling me that he looked to me to make you a thorough English gentleman, one fit to occupy his throne some day, and rule well over his people—firmly, justly, and strongly, as an Englishman would. And, of course, I thought it would be right for you both to know how to use your fists if you were unarmed and attacked by ruffians. And—er, well, well, you see I was not quite wrong. Mind, you know, I detest fighting, and only this morning I have been quite agreeing with the Doctor—fine old gentlemanly fellow, by the way, and a great scholar—agreeing with him, I say, that this fighting is rather a disgrace. At the same time, my boys, as I was about to say, I was not quite wrong about those gloves. You see, it enabled Glyn here to bring skill to bear against a bigger and a stronger man, and er—um—you see, there are other kinds of fighting that a man will have to go through in life; and then when such things do happen, mind this—I mean it metaphorically, you know—when you do have to fight with your fists, or with your tongue, thrash your adversary if you can; but if he from superior skill or strength thrashes you, why then, take it like a man, shake hands, and bear no malice against the one who wins.”
The Colonel blew his nose again.
“That’s not quite what I wanted to say, my boys; but I shall think this affair over a bit, and perhaps I shall have a few more words to say by-and-by.”
“Oh, I say, dad—” cried Glyn.
“What do you mean by that, sir?” said the Colonel sharply.