a bully, eh?"

"Regular tyrant, father. We hadn't been here a month, before not a day
passed without his insulting Singh or making us uncomfortable."

"Ha! insulted Singh, did he?"

"Yes, sir," cried that individual through his set teeth. "He was always
calling me nigger, and mocking at me in some way."

"Humph! Brute! And so, after putting up with a good deal, and obeying
my orders till he couldn't stand it any longer, Glyn took your part and
thrashed the fellow, eh?"

"Yes, sir, bravely," cried Singh, with his eyes flashing. "I wish you'd
been there to see."

"I wish--"

The Colonel stopped short. "No, no. Tut, tut! Nonsense! I did not
want to see. Here, hold out your hands, Glyn. No, no, not like that.
Double your fists. Hold them out straight. I want to look at your
knuckles. Dreadful! Nice state for a gentleman's hands. Fighting's
bad.--Do you hear, Singh? Very bad. But I must confess that I didn't
get through school without a turn-up or two myself. Glyn took your
part, then, and thrashed the fellow. Well, he won't bully either of you
again. Yes, I got into my scrapes when I was a boy; but you know times
were different then. Everything was rougher. This sort of thing won't
do. You must be more of gentlemen now--more polished. Fighting's bad."

"But you let the sergeant, father, teach us how to use the gloves after
you had got them over from England."

"Eh? What, sir--what sir?" cried the Colonel sharply. "Well, yes, I
did. It was a bit of a lapse, though, and every man makes mistakes.
But that, you see, was part of my old education, and through being in
India so many years and away from modern civilisation, and er--Of
course, I remember; it was after your poor father had been talking to
me, Singh, and telling me that he looked to me to make you a thorough
English gentleman, one fit to occupy his throne some day, and rule well
over his people--firmly, justly, and strongly, as an Englishman would.
And, of course, I thought it would be right for you both to know how to
use your fists if you were unarmed and attacked by ruffians. And--er,
well, well, you see I was not quite wrong. Mind, you know, I detest
fighting, and only this morning I have been quite agreeing with the
Doctor--fine old gentlemanly fellow, by the way, and a great scholar--
agreeing with him, I say, that this fighting is rather a disgrace. At
the same time, my boys, as I was about to say, I was not quite wrong