"When?" said Glyn coolly.

"When? Why, now, at once."

"We haven't got any lines of Latin to do," said Singh quietly. "To-day
is a holiday."

"For us," cried Slegge; "but I know the Doctor. You have both got a
pretty stiff dose to do, my fine fellows, and I wish you joy."

"Thank you," said Glyn; "but you are all in the wrong."

"Wrong? Then what did the Doctor say to you?"

"Oh," said Glyn, in a most imperturbable manner, fighting hard the
while, though, to keep his countenance as he realised the strength of
the shot he was about to send at his malicious persecutor, "he asked
Singh and me to come and meet the masters and dine with him to-night."

CHAPTER NINE.

THE NEW PROFESSOR.

"Let 'em go," snarled Slegge to his courtiers. "It's only another way
of getting a hard lesson. I know what the Doctor's dinner-parties are.
Let the stuck-up young brutes go. But if I wasn't about to leave the
blessed old school I would jolly soon let the Doctor know that this sort
of thing won't do. The old humbug told me once that fairplay was a
jewel. I don't call it fairplay to be currying favour with a new boy
because he's an Indian prince. Indian prince, indeed! Indian bear--
cub; that's what I call him, with his leader, currying favour like that!
Ha, ha! Ho, ho! Haw, haw!"

This was a melodramatic laugh of the most sarcastic description,
prefatory to the letting off of a very ponderous joke. "Currying!
Indian curry! That's what he was brought up on. Curry and rice instead
of pap. Look at the colour of his skin. But only wait a bit,"
continued Slegge darkly. "Just wait till the right time comes, and I'll
let you all see."

But the Doctor's dinner-party was not quite so ponderous and learned as
usual, for the incidents of the day formed the main topic of
conversation. The Doctor was in high good-humour, and naturally felt
rather proud of his pupils. They had distinguished themselves, and in
so doing had distinguished him and his school, and the consequence was
that the masters readily took up the subject and were most warm and
friendly to the two lads, the other guest in particular, Professor
Barclay, as Morris took care that he should be called, much to the
annoyance of the classical master, who looked at the new-comer, Morris's
friend, rather suspiciously, regarding him as one likely to poach upon
his preserves.

During the dinner, the Professor had much to say about Sanskrit,
military colleges,