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The boy preferred the Rissaldar-Major even to some Sahibs of his acquaintance that wonderful old man-at-arms, horseman, shikarri, athlete, gentleman. And what a fine riding-master he made for an ambitious, fearless boy though Ochterlonie Sahib said he was too cruel to be a good horse-master. How could people be civilians and live away from regiments?
"The mare has a cold and the syce is a qualified fool, is he? H'm! I think it's high time you had a look in at little old England, my son, what? And who made you this elegant rapier? Ochterlonie Sahib or who?" "'Tithn't a waper. It'th my thword. I made it mythelf." "Who helped?" "Nobody.
And yet thanks to his equal understanding of the words and deeds of Nurse Beaton, Major Decies, Lieutenant Ochterlonie, his father, the Officers of the Regiment, and the Europeans of the station he had a clear, if unconscious, understanding that what was customary for native servants was neither customary nor possible for Sahibs.... But he knew too much....
The boy lunged, straight, true, gracefully, straightening all his limbs except his right leg, rigidly, strongly, and the "sword" bent upward from the spot on which the man's finger had just rested. "Gad! Who has taught you to lunge? I shall have a bruise there, and perhaps live. Who's behind all this, young fella? Who taught you to stand so, and to lunge? Ochterlonie Sahib or Daddy?" "Nobody.
The first officer to whom Trooper Matthewson gave his smart respectful salute as he stood on sentry-duty was the Major, the Second-in-Command of the Queen's Greys, newly rejoined from furlough, a belted Earl, famous for his sporting habit of riding always and everywhere without a saddle who, as a merry subaltern, had been Lieutenant Lord Ochterlonie and Adjutant of the Queen's Greys at Bimariabad in India.
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