“Seeing what?”
“That she tries to make up for her rather unladylike conduct by being very civil; while her cooking is good, the dinners excellent, and the breakfasts, the wines well chosen, and the cigars—there, did you ever smoke a better than that?”
“Oh, pish! Everyone can’t take things as quietly as you do, Chumb.”
“Poor fellows, no,” said the latter, with a satisfied air. “It’s the only quality I possess of which I am really proud. You see it makes me perfectly well suited for this climate, for no troubles or worries ever put me in a perspiration. I wish, though, we had a chess-board and men.”
“Chess-board! men!” retorted Hilton, laughing, in a half-amused, half-vexed tone; “who in the world could ever think of playing chess! Really, Chumbley, I believe you are quite happy and contented.”
“Well, not so bad, dear boy—not so bad now the novelty and the unpleasantly of the affair have worn off. You see, a fellow has only so long to live. Well, isn’t it a pity to spoil any of that time by making yourself miserable if you can help it? Take my advice and behave as young Jacob Faithful suggested, ‘Take it coolly;’ and as the sailor in another story I once read said, ‘if you can’t take it coolly, soldier, take it as coolly as you can.’”
Hilton bit the end of his cigar and then bit his lips; lay back thinking of Helen and then of Grey Stuart, the latter obtaining the larger portion of his thoughts.
As for Chumbley, he lay back on his divan and smoked, and thought it was very tiresome to be detained there, but granted that it was better than being detained in hospital from wounds or sickness; and as time wore on, Hilton, removed from the cares and anxieties of being one of Helen’s lovers, settled down more and more into an imitation of his friend’s coolness, his common-sense teaching him that Chumbley was right, and that his best chance of escaping was by waiting for his opportunity—whenever that opportunity should come.
They had not seen anything of the Princess for some days, for she had evidently left them to cool down; but they had been admirably treated, and had grown a little less impatient of their prison, when one day a Malay servant entered their room, and with the most profound respect announced that the Inche Maida awaited the English chiefs in another room.
“Well, that’s not such bad treatment of prisoners, if it don’t mean a polite summons to execution. You first, old fellow; I’m only here as your confidential man.”