along the back of his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. He could
hear Absalom closing the shop behind him, and he turned his curious,
expressionless eyes upon the boy as he passed down the steps and mingled
with the crowd in the street. Just opposite, a story-teller squatted on
the ground in the centre of a group of men who laughed and clapped their
hands, his flashing teeth and quick gesticulations adding to each point
he made; it was still clear enough to see his alternating expression of
assumed anger or amusement. It was clear enough to notice the coloured
scarves and smiling faces of a bullock cart full of girls going slowly
homewards, and it was clear enough to see and recognize the Rev. Francis
Heath, hurrying at speed between the crowd; clear enough to see the Rev.
Francis stop for a moment to wish his old pupil Absalom good evening,
and then vanish quickly like a figure flashed on a screen by a
cinematograph.

Lights came out in high windows and sounds of bagpipes and beating
tom-toms began inside the open doors of a nautch house. An evil-looking
house where green dragons curled up the fretted entrance, and where,
overhead, faces peered from a balcony into the street. There was noise
enough there to attract any amount of attention. Smart carriages, with
white-uniformed _syces_, hurried up, bearing stout, plethoric men from
the wharf offices, and Mhtoon Pah saluted several of the sahibs, who
reclined in comfort behind fine pairs of trotting horses.

Their time for passing having gone, and the street relieved of the
disturbance, lamps were carried out and set upon tables and booths, but
a few red streaks of evening tinted the sky, and faces that passed were
still recognizable. A bay pony ridden by a lady almost at a gallop came
so fast that she was up the street and round the corner in a twinkling.
If Mrs. Wilder was dining out on the night of July 29th she was running