There he lay—shaken and stupefied—his eyes and mouth full of sand; and his pockets and boots and the inside of his shirt. Nothing seemed to be broken. And he wasn't killed!
Some one was flicking the sand from his face; and he opened his eyes to find the deliverer kneeling beside him, amazed and concerned.
"I say, that was a pretty average tumble! What sort of a lark were you up to? Are you hurt?"
"Only bumped a bit," Roy panted, still out of breath. "I spec' it startled you. I'm sorry."
The bareheaded one laughed. "You startled the Scab's minions a jolly sight more. Cleared the course! And a rare good riddance—eh, Chandranath?"
To that friendly appeal the Indian boy vouchsafed a muttered assent. He stood a little apart, looking sullen, irresolute, and thoroughly uncomfortable, the marks of tears still on his face.
"Thanks veree much. I am going now," he blurted out abruptly; and Roy felt quite cross with him. Pity had evaporated. But the other boy's good-humour seemed unassailable.
"If you're not in a frantic hurry, we can go back together."
Chandranath shook his head. "I don't wish—to go back. I would rather—be by myself."
"As you please. Those cads won't bother you again."