To the boys it was delightful, for everything in the dimly-lit room was attractive: the group of guards and officials who stood behind and about the rajah in their showiest silks; the chief in his native costume now, in which bright-yellow silk predominated; and as Ned gazed at him, he could not help thinking how much better he looked in a dress which became him, for he looked now like an eastern prince, and the boy whispered so to his companion.
“Yes; he don’t look such an old guy now,” said Frank, in the same tone. “We English people can wear our clothes without looking foolish,” he said, complacently. “They can’t wear English things without being scarecrows.”
“But, I say, where are his wives? There are no ladies here,” whispered Ned again.
“Locked up, put away in the cupboard. Heads chopped off, perhaps,” whispered Frank. “You didn’t suppose they would be here to sit down and eat with such infidels as we are!”
“Oh, I didn’t know.”
“Well, I did. It’s a wonder to see the old chap here. He’s got some scheme in his head, or he wouldn’t be so civil. I wonder what it is. You see they’re all obliged to come if he gives orders. But be quiet: don’t talk and ask questions. I’m hungry, and the things he gives you to eat are precious good, though often enough you don’t know what they are.”
“But, I say, tell me this,” whispered Ned; “and I won’t ask you any more questions. There will not be anything one don’t like to eat, will there? I mean anything queer.”
“What, young crocodile fatted with niggers, pickled boa constrictor, or curried baby?”
“Don’t chaff. Tell me.”
“Look here: do you want to know what to do?”