"Thy father eats the Rajah's salt. Thou forgettest that the _Dewan_ found
the money to send thee across the Black Water to learn thy trade."

The younger man frowned discontentedly.

"Well, I see not the colour of his money now. Why should I obey him? I will
not."

"Softly, softly, son. There be many knives in the bazaars of the city that
will seek out any man's heart at the _Dewan's_ bidding. Thou art a man of
Lalpuri still."

His son rose discontentedly from his chair.

"_Kali_ smite him with smallpox. I suppose it were better to see what he
wants. I shall go."

Admitted to the presence of the _Dewan_, Chunerbutty's defiant manner
dropped from him, for he had always held that official in awe. His swagger
vanished; he bent low and his hand went up to his head in a salaam. The
Premier of the State, a wrinkled old Brahmin, was seated on the ground
propped up by white bolsters, with a small table, a foot high, crowded with
papers in front of him. He was dressed simply and plainly in white cotton
garments, a small coloured _puggri_ covering his shaved head. Although
reputed the possessor of finer jewels than the Rajah he wore no ornaments.

Sprawling in an easy chair opposite him was a fat European in a tight white
linen suit buttoned up to the neck. He evidently felt the heat acutely, and
with a large coloured handkerchief he incessantly wiped his red face, down