Tommy laughed. "That's been the situation as long as I've been out. We're giving him enough rope, and I hope he'll hang, though I'm afraid he won't. The rising will probably be a sort of Chinese cracker affair--a fizz, a few bangs, and a splutter-out. No honour and glory for any one!" "I hope you are right," said Bernard. "And I hope I'm wrong," said Tommy lightly. "I like a run for my money." "You forget the women," said Bernard abruptly. Tommy opened his eyes. "No, I don't. They'll be all right. They'll have to clear out to Bhulwana a little earlier than usual. They'll be safe enough there. You can go and look after 'em, sir. They'll like that." "Thank you, Tommy." Bernard smiled in spite of himself. "It's kind of you to put it so tactfully. Now tell me what you think of Everard. Is he really ill?" "No; worried to death, that's all. He's talking of sending in his papers. Did you know?" "I suspected he would," Bernard spoke thoughtfully. "He mustn't do it!" said Tommy with vehemence. "He's worth all the rest of the Mess put together. You mustn't let him." Bernard lifted his brows. "I let him!" he said. "Do you think he is going to do what I tell him?" "I know you have influence--considerable influence--with him," Tommy said. "You ought to use it, sir. You really ought. It's up to you and no one else." He spoke insistently. Bernard looked at him attentively. "You've changed your tune somewhat, haven't you, Tommy?" he said. "Yes," said Tommy bluntly. "I have. I've been a damn' fool if you want to know--the biggest, damnedest fool on the face of creation. And I've been and told him so." "For no particular reason?" Bernard's blue eyes grew keener in their regard. He looked at Tommy with more interest than he had ever before bestowed upon him. Tommy's face was red, but he replied without embarrassment. "Certainly. I've come to my senses, that's all. I've come to realize--what I really knew all along--that he's a white man, white all through, however black he chooses to be painted. And I'm ashamed that I ever doubted him." "He hasn't told you anything?" questioned Bernard, still closely surveying the flushed countenance. "No!" said Tommy, and his voice rang on a note of indignant pride. "Why the devil should he tell me anything? I'm his friend. Thank the gods, I can trust him without." Bernard held out his hand suddenly. The interest had turned to something warmer. He looked at the boy with genuine admiration. "I take off my hat to you, Tommy," he said. "Everard is a deuced lucky man." "What?" said Tommy, and turned deep crimson. "Oh, rot, sir! That's rot!" He gripped the extended hand with warmth notwithstanding. "It's all the other way round. I can't tell you what he's been to me. Why, I--I'd die for him, if I had the chance."