They had all been
curious as to the truth of the stories about Dermot's supposed miraculous
power over wild elephants, but no one had ever ventured to question him on
the subject before.
"I suppose you know, Major, that the natives have some wonderful tales
about Badshah?" said a planter.
"Yes; and of you, too, sir," said the young assistant manager. "They think
you both some special brand of gods."
"I'm not surprised," said the Major with assumed carelessness. "They're
ready to deify anything. They will see a god in a stone or a tree. You know
they looked on the famous John Nicholson during the Mutiny as a god, and
made a cult of him. There are still men who worship him."
"They're prepared to do that to you, Major," said Granger frankly. "Barrett
is quite right. They call you the Elephant God."
Dermot laughed and stood up.
"Oh, natives will believe anything," he said. "If you'll excuse me now,
Daleham, I'll turn in--or rather, turn out. I'd like to get some sleep, for
we've an early start before us."
"Yes, we'd better all do the same," said Granger, rising too. "How are you
going to bed us all down, Daleham? Bit of a job, isn't it?"
"We'll manage all right," replied the young host. "I told the servants to
spread all the mattresses and charpoys that they could raise anywhere out
on the verandah and in the spare rooms.
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