"No, sir. I suppose it was the cricket-match put it all out of my head."

"Bah!" cried Morris.

"And then, you see, sir, I have so many things to think of about my work and the young gentlemen that I haven't got room to remember everything; and I always have to tick things off."

"Tick things off? What do you mean by that?" cried Morris.

"Well, sir, there's things to do and there's things that's done; things I have got to remember, and things I haven't. The Professor said that he'd come and see you, so that was his job and not mine; and if you'll believe me, gentlemen all, I never remembered about his coming until Colonel Severn here asked me about any one coming and wanting to write a letter."

"I believe you," said the Colonel quietly, as if speaking to himself; but it was sufficiently loud for Morris to hear, and he turned upon the speaker fiercely.

"I protest, sir," he cried indignantly, "partly against my name being dragged into this despicable theft, and partly on behalf of my friend Professor Barclay, a scholar, a gentleman, and a professor of Sanskrit and other Eastern languages; a gentleman, sir, though a poor and needy gentleman upon whom the world had frowned, but whom I considered it an honour and a privilege to know, as I should any gentleman whom I was introduced to by my revered principal the Doctor. I cannot sit still and hear such a man even suspected of being dishonest; and I beg you, sir, and the Doctor will go on with this investigation so as to prove to the world that Professor Barclay was a gentleman indeed."



CHAPTER THIRTY SIX.

THE COLONEL OPENS FOLK'S EYES.

Morris sat down, panting, and began wiping the perspiration from his forehead. He looked very much agitated, and then he smiled with satisfaction, for Singh sprang up and cried, "Mr Morris is quite right, guardian. The Professor was a scholar and a gentleman, whom I knew too."

"Indeed!" said the Colonel.

"Yes, sir. He spoke Hindustani very well for an Englishman. Why, you saw him, sir!"

"I?" said the Colonel sharply. "Yes, sir; that night we were dining with you at your hotel."

"The Colonel forgets," said Morris quickly. "He was with me in the hall, sir, and wanted to be introduced to you."

"Oh," said the Colonel; "that man? No, I don't forget. I remember perfectly well."

"And, guardian, he took such an interest in my belt!"

"Indeed!" said the Colonel quietly.

"Yes, sir, when I showed it to him. He asked to see it, you know, when I told him about the Sanskrit letters."

"Naturally, as a Sanskrit scholar," said the Colonel drily. "Sit down, my boy.—Doctor, I am very glad you sent for me, and that I am able to clear up this miserable little mystery. You knew this Professor Barclay?"

"Only as coming to me with testimonials to prove that he had been one of the professors at Stillham College."

"Yes; and his name?"

"Barclay—Professor Barclay, Professor of Sanskrit and Hindustani. He applied for an engagement here."

"Humph! All wrong," said the Colonel. "I thought I knew his face when he tried to thrust himself upon me in the hotel; and I was right. I did know it, though thirty years had elapsed since we last met. A man who had been out in Calcutta and picked up a little Sanskrit and a pretty good smattering of Hindustani—a man who can chatter a bit in a foreign tongue always seems a big scholar to one who can't. This fellow, on the strength of his acquirements, came back to England and obtained an appointment near London where military cadets were in training for the Honourable East India Company's Service. I was there—not Stillham, but Barniscombe; name not Barclay, but Roberts. He was kicked out, Doctor, for blackmailing the students. He was not much more than a boy himself in those days."

"Colonel," cried the Doctor indignantly, "are you prepared to say you are sure, and that this is a fact?"

"Yes," said the Colonel coolly. "He blackmailed me."

"Oh, impossible!" cried Morris wildly.

"No, sir," said the Colonel, smiling. "Quite possible. But you don't offend me, sir. I admire the way in which you defend the man whom you seem to have made your friend.—Well, Doctor, there's your man.—Why, boys, you seem to have been babies in his hands. Glyn, I'm ashamed of you."

Glyn looked at the Doctor, and then at Morris, as he felt that his father was not treating him fairly; but he held his tongue, and then his eyes flashed with satisfaction as Singh gave him a quick look and then spoke out.

"Glyn had nothing to do with it, sir," he said. "He protested against it, and regularly bullied me for showing this man the belt and lending him money."

"Ha, ha!" said the Colonel. "Then he fleeced you a little, did he, my boy?"

"Well, yes, sir. I lent or gave him some money, because I thought that he was a poor gentleman. How was I to know that he was not honest, when—when—"

He was about to say "when my teachers were deceived," but the Colonel checked him.

"There, there, there," he said; "that'll do, Singh. You are not the first fellow of your age who has been imposed upon by a needy scoundrel."

"No," said the Doctor sharply. "If any one is to blame it is I, who pitied the position of a man out of employment and tried to befriend him. Well, Colonel Severn, I am very sorry; but it is forced upon me. I feel it a duty to you to try and make some recompense."

"Oh, nonsense!" said the Colonel rather haughtily. "I need no recompense."

"Indeed, sir," said the Doctor, "but I am answerable to Mr Singh here for his loss through my want of care and foresight."

"Oh, pooh, sir! pooh! The belt was not worth much; eh, Singh?"

"Oh no," said the boy contemptuously, and raising his head he walked up to the Doctor and held out his hand. "Don't say any more about it, sir, please," he added rather proudly. "I don't mind losing the belt a bit."

"Oh, but," cried the Doctor, catching at and pressing the boy's hand warmly, "this is very brave and noble of you, my boy. Still I must put aside all false shame and accept the punishment that may fall upon me from the want of confidence that people may feel in the future.—Colonel Severn, this must go into the hands of the police. Such a man as this must be run down; it is a duty, and before he imposes upon others as he has imposed upon me."

"No, no, no, my dear sir! No, no," cried the Colonel. "The swindling scoundrel has had his punishment before this, so let him go."

"I beg your pardon," said the Doctor; "he cannot have had his punishment; and such a man as this should not be allowed to be at large."

"There, there, sir," cried the Colonel, laughing pleasantly, and greatly to the annoyance of the Doctor that he should treat the loss of his ward's valuable belt in so light a way. "I find that I must make a confession. That belt really was not intrinsically worth more than a ten-pound note. It cost me about twenty; but I very much doubt whether the scoundrel would be able to sell it for a tithe of the amount."

"Guardian," cried Singh, "what are you saying?"

"Something in very plain English, my boy. Let's see, how old are you now?"

"Sixteen, sir."

"Well, it's about two years since you began to attack me about letting you have that part of the Dour regalia, and I wanted to satisfy you and do my duty in the trust my good old friend your father placed in me."

"I don't understand, sir," cried the boy, flushing.

"You soon will, my lad. I, in my desire to do my duty by you, felt that it would not be right to let a mere schoolboy like you come away to make your home at some place of education with so costly, and, from its associations, unique a jewel as the one in question."

"You used to say so to me, sir," said the boy quickly.

"Yes. But in your young hot-blooded Indian nature you were not pacified, and I felt bound to do something that I thought then would be right."

Singh looked at him and then at Glyn, while the rest of those assembled listened eagerly for the Colonel's next words.

"Do you remember, boys, our long stay in Colombo?"

"Yes!" they cried in a breath.

"Well, they are famous people for working in jewellery there, and I easily found a man ready to undertake the task of making a facsimile of the belt."

"Facsimile!" cried Singh, starting away from the speaker.

"Yes, my boy; and he did it beautifully—so well that I was almost startled by its exactitude and the way in which a few pieces of green glass resembled emeralds."

"But the Sanskrit inscription?" cried the Doctor.

"Exactly copied," said the Colonel; "cut in the glass. I tell you it was so well done that I was almost startled."

"Then—then—then," cried Singh wildly, "I have been deceived!" and his voice seemed to cut down that of Glyn, who was about to burst out in a triumphant "Hooray!"

"Well, yes, my boy," said the Colonel quietly. "I told you I must confess. I did deceive you in that, but with the best intentions."

A look of agony crossed the boy's face, and he turned from father to son and then back.

"Treated as a child!" he cried. "Deceived again! Oh, in whom am I to trust?"

"In me, I hope, boy," almost thundered the Colonel in the deepest tones. "I had the trust imposed on me by your dead father to care for you and your wealth until you came of age. Should I have been acting my part had I given up to you and let you treat as a toy that valuable jewel that was almost sacred in his eyes?"

"But to—but to—Then where—where is it now?"

"Lying safely with others, sir, in the bankers' vaults."

"Oh-h-h-oh!" cried Singh, and his whole manner changed as he stood for a few moments striving for utterance yet unable to speak. But at last the words came, hoarsely and with a violent effort, as in the reaction from his fit of indignation he almost murmured, "What have I done? What have I said?"

"Nothing, my boy," said the Colonel, holding out his hands, "but what had my son been in your place I would have gladly seen him do and heard him say."

One moment Singh's face, quivering with emotion, was hidden in the Colonel's breast; the next, he rushed from the room, closely followed by Glyn.



CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.

THE SORE PLACE IN THE FENCE.

Time had gone on after his good old fashion, moving silently and insidiously, seeming to crawl to those who were waiting for something, till it suddenly dawns upon them that he has been making tremendous strides with those long legs of his which puzzled the little girl who asked her mother whether it was true that Time had those means of progression. Many will remember that the mother asked the child why she supposed that Time had legs, "Because," she replied, "people speak about the lapse of Time, and if he has laps he must have legs to make them of."

The troubles connected with the disappearance of the belt, and the unpleasant weeks during which masters, scholars, and servants seemed to have been mentally poisoned by suspicion and were all disposed to look askant at each other, had passed away, and, in his busy avocations and joining in the school sports, Singh was disposed to look upon the theft of his pseudo-heirloom as something which had never happened.

"Even if it had been real, Glyn," he said one night as they lay talking across the room in the dark, and the boy had grown into a much more philosophical state of mind, "what would it have mattered?"

"Not a jolly bit," said Glyn drowsily.

"I suppose it's being here in England," continued Singh, "where you people don't think so much about dressing up, and getting to be more English myself, that I don't seem to care about ornaments as I used. Sometimes I think it was very stupid of me to want to bring such a thing to school with me in my travelling-trunk."

"Awfully," grumbled Glyn.

"What!" cried Singh sharply.

Glyn started. "Eh! What say?" he cried, and a yawn followed.

"You said 'awfully.'"

"Did I?" said Glyn, more sleepily than ever.

"Why, you know you did," cried Singh petulantly.

"What did I say that for?"

"Ugh!" grunted Singh. "There, go to sleep. What's the good of talking to you?"

"Not a bit," replied Glyn; "it only sounds like buzz, buzz."

"I haven't patience with you," cried Singh; "when I was trying to talk quietly and sensibly about losing my belt."

"Bother your old belt!" cried Glyn. "Who wants to talk quietly and sensibly now? I came to bed to sleep, and every time I'm dozing off nicely and comfortably you begin burr, burr, burr, and I can't understand you a bit."

"I wish we were in India," said Singh angrily.

"I wish you were," growled Glyn.

"I should like to set a punkah-wallah to pick up a chatty of water and douse it all over you."

"He'd feel very uncomfortable afterwards," said Glyn, "if I got hold of him. Oh, bother! bother! bother!" he cried, sitting up in bed. "Now then, preach away. What do you want to say about your ugly old belt?"

"Go to sleep," cried Singh, and there was a dull sound of Glyn's head going bang down into the pillow, in which his right ear was deeply buried while his left was carefully corked with a finger, and a minute or two later nothing was heard in the dormitory but the steady restful breathing of two strong healthy lads.

"What shall we do to-day; go out somewhere for a good walk?" asked Glyn the next morning.

"No; I want to have a quiet talk. Let's go down to the jungle, as you call it," said Singh.

"Thy slave obeys," cried Glyn. "But, jungle! poor old jungle! What wouldn't I give for a ride on a good elephant again—a well-trained fellow, who would snap off boughs and turn one into a chowri to whisk off the flies."

"Wouldn't old Ramball's Rajah do for you?"

"To be sure. I wonder what has become of the old boy. Roaming round the country somewhere, I suppose. What a rum old chap he was, with his hat in one hand, yellow silk handkerchief in the other, and his shiny bald head. Yes, I wonder where he is."

"Ramballing," cried Singh, with a peculiar smile on his countenance; and then he started in wonder, for Glyn made a dash at him, caught him by the wrist, and made believe to feel his pulse in the most solemn manner.

"What are you doing that for?" cried Singh.

"Wait a moment," replied Glyn.—"No. Beating quite steadily. Skin feels cool and moist."

"Why, of course," said Singh. "What do you mean?"

"I thought you must be ill to burst out with a bad joke like that."

"Oh, stuff!" cried Singh impatiently. "It's just as good as yours. Yes," he continued thoughtfully, "it is very nice here; but I should like another ride through the old jungle; and this old row of elm-trees—pah! how different."

The two lads remained very thoughtful as they walked slowly across the cricket-field, mentally seeing the wild forest of the East with its strange palms that run from tree to tree, rising up or growing down, here forming festoons, there tangling and matting the lower growth together, and always beautiful whenever seen.

Strange musings for a couple of schoolboys, who never once connected these objects of their thoughts with the stringent master's cane—the rattan or properly rotan-cane or climbing-palm.

They stopped at last in their favourite place beneath the elms, and stood with their hands in their pockets and their shoulders against the park-palings—the patch that looked newish, but which was gradually growing grey under the influence of the weather that was oxidising the new nails and sending a ruddy stain through the wood.

Neither spoke, but stood gazing up through the elm boughs, their thoughts far away in Northern India, dwelling upon active monkeys, peacocks and other gorgeously plumaged birds, tigers haunting nullahs and crouching among the reeds. All at once there was a strange panting sound, and a scratching behind them on the park-palings which made the two lads start away and turn to gaze at their late support, for the sound suggested, if not a tiger some other savage beast trying to climb the division between the Doctor's premises and the adjoining estate.

The next moment eight fat fingers appeared grasping the palings, there was the scratching of a boot on one of the supporting posts, and a round, red, fat face rose above the top of the fence like a small representation of the sun gradually topping a bank of mist upon a foggy morning.

Glyn Severn's Schooldays—by George Manville Fenn



CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

HIS GREAT ATTRACTION.

"Mr Ramball!" cried the boys in a breath. "Aha! Good-morning! Only to think of me looking over here to see if I could catch sight of you two young gents, and hitting upon just the right spot, and—Oh my!"

There was a rushing sound as the wild-beast proprietor suddenly disappeared—so suddenly that, moved as by one impulse, the two lads made a dash at the palings, sprang up, and held on to look over, and see Ramball seated on the ground in the act of taking off his hat and extricating his yellow silk handkerchief to dab his bald and dewy head.

"Hurt?" cried Glyn anxiously. "Well, I—I don't quite know yet," said their unexpected visitor. "I haven't sat down as quick as that for a precious long time. Well, no, I don't think I am; it wasn't pleasant, though. But my toe might have given me notice that it was coming off that ledge. Well, how are you? If you'd come over here I'd offer to shake hands, but I would rather sit still for a few minutes to get my breath again. It seemed to be all knocked out of me at once."

The two lads glanced across the fields towards the orchard where the elephant had eaten his fill of apples, and, seeing nobody near, they both broke bounds by swinging their legs over the palings and dropping on the other side by the fat little man.

Glyn offered his hand to help him up, and Ramball took it and shook it.

"By-and-by," he said. "I am all right here.—And how are you, my hero?" he continued, extending his hand to Singh.

"Quite well," said Singh good-humouredly, looking at the showman but in imagination seeing the great elephant instead.

"That's right," cried Ramball. "You look it—hearty, both of you!"

"Where's the elephant?" said Singh.

"Oh, he's all right, sir. Fine."

"Is he coming into the town?" cried Glyn.

"What, here, sir? Bless you, no! He's in Birmingham, where we are doing a splendid business; crowded houses—tents, I mean—twice a day."

"And what are you doing here?" cried Singh.

"Oh, killing two birds with one stone," said the man, laughing.

"Where are they?" asked Glyn, laughing in turn.

"Get out! Poking fun at me! It was like this 'ere. The gent yonder,"—and the man gave his head a jerk backwards—"wrote to me and said that he'd had to pay a pound for a bit of damage to the fence about his orchard, and that he thought, as my elephant had done the mischief, and I had only paid him for the apples he ate, the money ought to come out of my pocket. Well, young gentlemen, I always pay up directly for any damage done by my beasts if the claim's made honest. This gent, your neighbour, sent in a very honest demand, and I set that down as one of the birds I wanted to kill. T'other was that I wanted to see my farm and how some of the young stock was getting on. So I nips into the train yesterday, travelled all night, and been to see the gentleman, paid up, and he was very civil—give me a bit of breakfast, and when I said I should like to look round the place again where my elephant went in for his apples he said I was quite welcome to look about as much as I liked. Well, we have been lately in the iron country and among the potteries; and bless you, it's quite a treat to be away from the smoke and to see things all a-growing and a-blowing. Then I catches sight of this bit of new fence, and that set me thinking of your school and you two young gents; and for the moment I thought that I would go back, say good-morning to the gentleman, and come round to the school and ask to see you two. But then I said to myself, 'Well, they are not their own masters yet, and the Doctor mightn't be pleased to have a common sort of fellow like me coming the visitor where I had no business,' and I says to myself, 'It might make it unpleasant for those two young fellows, and so I won't go.' Then I thought I should like to catch sight of you both again, for I took quite a fancy to you young gents. And here I am."

"Well," said Glyn, laughing, "we are glad to see you; eh, Singh?"

"Yes, of course. But hadn't you better get up, Mr Ramball? It seems so queer for us to be standing talking to you and you sitting there," said Singh.

"Oh, I'm all right, bless you, my lad. It makes me think about my Rajah."

"And me too. He's a grand beast."

"Isn't he, my lad? And the way he's been putting flesh on is wonderful. I won't say he weighs a ton more than when you saw him last, but he's a heap heavier than he was."

"But," cried Glyn mischievously, "his trunk's fine enough, only he's got such a miserable little tail."

"You leave his tail alone," said Ramball, wagging his head. "What he's got is his nature to."

"But I say, Mr Ramball," cried Singh merrily, "don't you want me to come and ride him in your show?"

"Well, no, sir; you chucked your opportunity away. I have got a new keeper now as fits exactly."

"What a pity!" said Glyn merrily.

"Well, that's what I thought, sir," said Ramball quite seriously, "when the young gent threw away his chance. You know we are common sort of people; but the money we earn sometimes ain't to be sneezed at. Why, of course I ought to tell you. Who do you think I have got?"

"Oh, how should we know?" cried Glyn.

"Friend of yours, gentlemen, that come to my show when it was here and wanted me to take him on."

"Friend of ours?" said Glyn.

"Yes; just after squire here had ridden Rajah. Said he was hard-up and couldn't get anything to do, but that he could talk Ingyrubber tongue as well as squire here. But I wouldn't have anything to do with him then, for I didn't believe in him."

"Professor Barclay!" cried Glyn excitedly.

"That's the man, sir. Well, he come to me, followed me up like, and I engaged him."

"But he's gone to India!" cried Singh excitedly.

"Gone to India, sir? Well, he's only got as far as the elephant, and that's in Brummagem town as sure as I am sitting here."

"Do you hear this, Glyn?" cried Singh excitedly.

"Oh yes, I hear," was the reply, and the two lads exchanged glances, while Ramball sat shaking and nodding his head like a mandarin image.

"It's no use, gentlemen. You threw that chance away. He come after me and followed me up all through the Midlands. Half-starved he was, pore chap. I never see such a gentlemanly sort of chap so hard pushed as he was; and at last out of charity like I took him on. And very glad I am, for he's turned out capital. He talks that Indian gibberish to the old Rajah, and the big beast follows him about like a lamb. Never have a bit of trouble with him now, only when he tries to shove one of the caravans over with that big head of his, just in play; and then Bah Klay—that's his show-name, and a very good one too—comes and says 'Hookah-bah-dah' and 'Shallahballah,' and the Rajah follows him as quiet as can be."

"Oh," said Singh.

"Ah, I wish you could see him, sir," continued Ramball, dabbing his head pleasantly with his yellow handkerchief. "Bah Klay is quite an addition to my show, and the people come in hundreds to see him and the Rajah alone. It was him himself as came to me one day and proposed it."

"What, the Rajah?" cried Glyn.

"The Rajah! Tchah! What are you talking about? No; Bah Klay. He said it wouldn't cost much, and that if I'd pay for the white cotton bed-gown sort of thing for him to wear and some scarlet muslin to roll up to make a muzzle to wear upon his head—"

"Muzzle! Over his mouth, you mean," cried Glyn.

"Who said anything about muzzle?" cried Ramball tetchily. "I said puggamaree—and that if I'd buy them, he'd dress up, and that he'd got a property to finish it all up fine. Well, I'd never seen any property that he'd got except a few things in a very shabby old carpet-bag that I wouldn't have picked up off the street. Still, I couldn't help thinking that him in a white bed-gown and a red turban on his head, cocked up there on the elephant's neck, wouldn't make a bad picture; so I said I would, and the very next week when we had paraded for a procession to go through one of the pottery towns and draw the people in, Mr Bah Klay came out in what he called his property. Ah, and he done it well! He'd washed his face in walnut juice, and his hands too. There he was in his white bed-gown and scarlet puggaree turban thing, and round his waist he'd got on a yellow leathern belt all dekkyrated with gold and buckled on with three great green glass ornaments that twinkled in the sun like hooray."

Singh started, his lips dropped apart, and he made a snatch at Glyn's wrist just as his companion clutched him by the arm, and the lads stood gazing into each other's eyes.

"Yes, gents, I tell you he looked fine, and it would have done your hearts good to see him. That there idea of his put steady vittles into his mouth and a few shillings a week into his pockets; but it always puzzled me why, him being so hard-up, he hadn't tried to sell that there belt. I said so to him one day, but he only gave a curious kind of grin and said he should have done so, but nobody would buy it, for it wasn't real. Well, of course I never supposed it was, being a theaytrical kind of property. Still, I don't suppose it was made for less than a five-pun note. Well, gentlemen," cried Ramball, rising slowly and giving his head a final dab, "I must be off. I go back to Brummagem again this afternoon, and all the better for seeing you two gents; so if you will shake hands, your sarvint to command, Titus Ramball, of the Imperial Wide World Menagerie."

The two lads shook hands heartily, but they were too full of thought to say much; and as the visitor went in one direction, they slipped over the palings and sat down with their backs against the fence to have a good long talk, for Fate seemed to have provided them with a subject upon which they could discourse; and it was this:

There was the criminal, almost within touch, for they had only to give notice to the police and the Professor would be lodged in jail for theft.

"And what then?" said Singh slowly. "I wouldn't have that belt again if it were brought to me. And what was it your father said about the Professor being punished?"

"Oh! about the punishment coming when he found that he had made himself a thief to get something that was not worth the pains."

"Yes," said Singh, "but not in those words. Then we don't want to punish the miserable cheat any more."

"And do harm to droll old Ramball," said Glyn. "My word, though, I should almost like to go to Birmingham and suddenly come upon the Professor riding upon old Rajah's neck!"

"Pah!" exclaimed Singh, with his lip curling and a look of disgust in his eyes, "I shouldn't like to see the miserable creature for the poor elephant's sake. Here, let's go and tell Mr Morris."

"No, no!" cried Glyn excitedly. "All that trouble is being forgotten, and it would hurt his feelings if it were brought up again."

"Think so?" said Singh.

"Yes. Promise me you'll never say a word to any one here."

"Well," said Singh thoughtfully, "I won't."

Salaam To All!

THE END.