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Wylie, I. A. R. (Ida Alexa Ross), 1885-1959

"The Native Born or, the Rajah's People"

"I'm a
ranting fool!" he went on angrily. "You won't understand, Rajah Sahib,
but I couldn't stand your thinking that they are all like me--"
Nehal Singh rose to his feet.
"Nicholson!" he repeated slowly, as though he had not heard. "I shall
remember that name. And there are more like him? That is well." Then
he laid his hand on the young officer's shoulder. "I am going to help
you," he said. "I am going to save you from whatever trouble you are
in, and then you must go back to the frontiers and become a man after
the ideal that has been set you. One day you can repay me."
The storm of protest died on Geoffries' lips. Prejudices, the
ingrained arrogance of race which scorned to accept friendship at the
hands of an inferior, sank to ashes as his eyes met those of this
Hindu prince.
"What have I done to deserve your kindness, Rajah Sahib?" he began
helplessly, but Nehal Singh cut him smilingly short.
"You have saved me," he said. "To-night my faith hung in the balance.
You have given it back to me, and in my turn I will save you and give
you back what you have lost. And this shall be a bond between us. You
will hear from me to-morrow. Good night."
"Good night, Rajah Sahib--and--thank you." He hesitated, and then went
on painfully: "You have shown me that we have behaved like cads. I--am
awfully sorry."
He was not referring to the Bazaar, as Nehal supposed.
"The past is over and done with," Nehal Singh answered, "but the
future is ours--and the common ideal which we must follow for the
common good.


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