"Then you ought to be ashamed of yourself for feeling so. It's not as if I were a Siamese fellow—they say anything. An English boy doesn't like to be doubted."
"Beg your pardon, Hal—so sorry," said Phra penitently. "Shake hands."
"Not I," said Harry stiffly. "I'm not going to shake hands with a chap who doesn't believe my word."
"Hal!" cried Phra, with a pleading look in his eyes.
"We'd better not be friends any more; and you'd better go away and have nothing more to do with us English people."
"Why? What makes you say that?"
Harry was silent, and stood frowning there, hacking at the bamboo; but the quick-witted Siamese lad seemed to grasp the idea that there was something more behind the fit of annoyance, and began to press his companion. And the more silent and mysterious Harry proved to be, the more he pressed.
For a time he obtained nothing but mysterious hints and bitter words about things not being as they should be, and at last the boy said angrily,—
"Look here, Hal, I'm sure you are hiding something. I woke up and saw you there, and I felt sure you had been playing some trick. You know you often do."
"Yes, often," said Harry quietly.