“Excellent,” said Daleham.  “You’ll meet Chunerbutty at dinner then.  You’ll find him quite a good fellow.”

“I’d like to meet him,” answered the soldier truthfully.  He felt that the Bengali engineer might interest him more than his host imagined.

“I’ll tell the boy to get your room ready,” said Noreen.  “Oh, what will you do with your elephant?”

“Badshah will be all right.  I’ll send him back to the herd.”

“What, will he go by himself?” exclaimed Daleham.  “How will you get him again?”

“I think he’ll wait for me,” replied Dermot.

They had finished breakfast by now and rose from the table.  The Major went to Badshah, touched him and made him turn round to face in the direction whence they had come.

“Go now, and wait for me there,” he said pointing to the forest.

The elephant seemed to understand, and, touching his master with his trunk, started off at once towards the jungle.

Daleham and his sister watched the animal’s departure with surprise.

“Well, I’m blessed, Major.  You certainly have him well trained,” said Fred.  “Now, will you excuse me, sir?  I must go to the factory.  Noreen will look after you.”

He rose and took up his sun-hat.

“Oh, by the way, there is one of the fellows I told you of,” he continued.  “He is the B.A.”

He pointed to a man passing some distance away from the bungalow.  Dermot looked at him with curiosity.  His head was bare, and his thick black hair shone with oil.  He wore a European shirt and a dhoti, or cotton cloth draped round his waist like a divided skirt.  His legs were bare except for gay-coloured socks and English boots.  Gold-rimmed spectacles completed an appearance as unlike that of the ordinary tea-garden coolie as possible.  He was the typical Indian student as seen around Gower Street or South Kensington, in the dress that he wears in his native land.  There was no doubt of his being a Bengali Brahmin.

Daleham called him.

“Hi!  I say!  Come here!”

When the man reached the foot of the verandah steps the assistant manager said to him: 

“I have told this sahib that you are a graduate of Calcutta University.”

The Bengali salaamed carelessly and replied: 

“Oah, yess, sir.  I am B.A.”

“Really?  What is your name?” asked Dermot.

“Narain Dass, sir.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Dass, that a man of your education cannot get better employment than this,” remarked Dermot.

The Bengali smiled superciliously.

“Oah, yess, I can, of course.  This—­” He checked himself suddenly, and his manner became more cringing.  “Yess, sir, I can with much facility procure employment of sedentary nature.  But for reasons of health I am stringently advised by medical practitioner to engage in outdoor occupation.  So I adopt policy of ‘Back to the Land.’”