“You will think better of it some day, sir,” said the Resident.
“Never!” said the Major warmly; and his ruddy, sun-browned face grew redder, while his stiff, silvery-grey moustache and short-cut hair seemed to bristle. “Of course I know you must have troubles, sir, with other nations, and people like these Malays, who are subservient to us; but when they come, let’s fight and bring them to their senses.—What do you say to that, Archie Maine?”
“Spoken like a soldier, sir,” cried Archie quickly.
“Good!” cried the Major. “Your writing despatches and minutes and red-tape and all the rest of it to a fellow like that Rajah Suleiman is all waste of energy. Here you are supposed to be guiding him.”
“I hope and believe I am guiding him, sir,” said the Resident coldly.
“Bah! He and his people are growing more impudent every day. It’s bound to end in a blow-up. These imitation Scotch niggers in their plaid sarongs, as they call them, will be getting up a big quarrel with my men with their bounce and contempt for my well-drilled, smart detachment. Here’s every common, twopenny-halfpenny Malay looking down upon my fellows, while there isn’t one among my lads who isn’t a better man than their Rajah. There will be a row some day; won’t there, Archie?”
“I expect so, sir,” replied the lad, who was listening to the conversation, and felt rather amused.
“I sincerely hope, Major, that you give strict injunctions to your officers and men about doing everything to avoid coming into collision with the natives and their traditions.”
“You leave me alone for that, sir. I think I know what to do with my lads. You would like me to confine them to barracks, I suppose?”
“Well, I should be very strict with them, sir.”