For a few moments then there was a deep silence, during which Singh glided back to his seat, took up his knife and fork, and said, in quite a changed tone of voice:
“It always makes me think of that when I sit and look at you. And it comes back, sir, just like a dream. My father the Maharajah told me I was never to forget that story; and I never shall.”
Just at that moment the door was opened, and the waiter entered bearing another dish, while through the opening there came a burst of music as if some band were playing a march.
“Hah!” cried the Colonel, speaking with quite a start, but with his voice sounding husky and strange, and the words seeming forced as he gave Singh a long and earnest look. “Why, surely that is not a military band?”
“No, sir,” said the waiter, as he proceeded to change the plates, two of them having their contents hardly touched. “There’s a wild-beast show in the town, sir, in the field at the back,” and as he spoke the man looked sharply at the boys.
“Oh,” said the Colonel with a forced laugh. “Why, boys, is that where your elephant came from?”
And then the dinner went on, with the Colonel forcing himself into questioning the boys about their adventure, and from that he brought up the elephants in Dour, and chatted about tiger-shooting and the dangers of the man-eaters in the jungle. But all the time Glyn kept noting that his father spoke as if he had been strangely moved, and that when he turned his eyes upon Singh his face softened and his voice sounded more gentle.
As they sat over the dessert, Singh asked him to tell them about one of the other old fights that his father and the Colonel had been in.
“Don’t ask me, my boy,” said the Colonel gently. “You can’t understand it perhaps. When you grow as old as I am perhaps you will. But I don’t know. You like Glyn after a fashion, I suppose?”
“Like him?” cried Singh half-fiercely. “Why, of course I do!”