Ranjoor Singh touched the horse with
his right spur, and in a second the babu lay along on his stomach in
the mud.
He lay for a minute, believing himself dead. Then he cried aloud,
since he knew he must be broken into pieces. Then he felt himself. At
last he rose, and after a speechless glance at the back of the
risaldar-major, started slowly along the street toward where the
"riot" was.
"It is enough," he said in English, since he was a "failed B.A.,"
"to try the patience of Job's comforter. This militaree business has
corrupted even Sikh cavalry until they no longer are dependable. Yes.
It is time! It is time indeed that German influence be felt, in order
that British yoke may be cast off for good and all. Now I take it a
German soldier would have arrested everybodee, and I would have
received much _kudos_ in addition to cash reward paid for
information. In meantime, it is to be seen whether or not--yes,
precisely--a pencil is mightier than a sword, which means that a babu
is superior in wit and general attainments. Let us see!"
He began to run again, at a truly astonishing pace, considering his
paunch and all-round ungainliness, getting over the ground faster
than many a thin man could have done. As he ran his lips worked, for
though he had no breath to spare for speech, his brain was forming
words that crowded for expression.
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