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."

"If they do--I will _kill_ them."

He made that surprising announcement in a fierce whisper. It was the
voice of another race.

And the English boy's answer was equally true to type. "Right you are.
Give me fair warning and I'll lend a hand."

Chandranath stared blankly. "But--they are of _your_ country," he said;
and turning, walked off in the opposite direction.