office of Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop, one of the largest mercantile firms
of Calcutta. Pulin was heartily sick of school-mastering, and the
prospect of making a fortune in business filled his soul with joy. He
borrowed Rs. 30 from Debendra Babu and took the earliest train for
Calcutta. On arriving there he joined a mess of waifs and strays like
himself, who herded in a small room and clubbed their pice to provide
meals. Then he waited on Debnath Babu, whom he found installed in a
sumptuous office overlooking the river Hughli. The great man glanced
at his credentials and, with an appearance of cordiality, promised
to let him know in case a vacancy occurred in the office. For nearly
a month Pulin called daily for news at Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's, and
generally managed to waylay the head clerk, whose reply was invariably,
"I have nothing to suit you at present".

One morning, however, he was stopped by the darwán (doorkeeper) who
told him gruffly that the "Bara Babu did not like to have outsiders
hanging about the office". The baffled suitor reflected on his
miserable position. He had just eleven rupees and two pice left,
which he calculated would last him, with strict economy, for another
fortnight. When they were spent, he would have to return crestfallen
to Kadampur. But could he face the neighbours' sneers, the servants'
contumely--worse than all, his wife's bitter tongue? No, that was
not to be thought of. It were better to plunge into the river whose
turbid waters rolled only a few feet away.

Pulin was roused from this unpleasant train of thought by hearing
his name pronounced. It came from a well-dressed man, who was just
entering Messrs. Kerr & Dunlop's office, welcomed by a salám from the
surly doorkeeper. Pulin was delighted to recognise in the stranger
a certain Kisari Mohan Chatterji, who had taught him English in the