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 which the sweat rolled in oily drops, and mopped his bald head.

When Chunerbutty entered the apartment the Dewan, without any greeting indicated him, saying: 

“This, Mr. Macgregor, is an example of what all we Indians shall be when relieved of the tyranny of British officials and allowed to govern ourselves.”

His English was perfect.

The bearer of the historic Highland name, whose appearance suggested rather a Hebrew patronymic, removed from his mouth the cigar that he was smoking and asked in a guttural voice: 

“Who is the young man?”

The Dewan briefly explained, then, turning to Chunerbutty, he said: 

“This is Mr. Donald Macgregor, M.P., a member of the Labour Party and a true friend of India.  You may speak freely before him.  Sit down.”

The engineer looked around in vain for another chair.  The Dewan said sharply in Bengali, using the familiar, and in this case contemptuous, “thou”: 

“Sit on the floor, as thy fathers before thee have done, as thou didst thyself before thou began to think thyself an Englishman and despise thy country and its ways.”

Chunerbutty collapsed and sat down hastily on a mat.  Then in English the Dewan continued: 

“Have you any news?”

“No; I have forwarded as they came all letters and messengers from Bhutan.  The troops—­” He stopped and looked at the Member of Parliament.

“Continue.  There is no need of secrecy before Mr. Macgregor,” said the Dewan.  “I have said that he is a friend of India.”

“It’s all right, my boy,” added the Hebrew Highlander encouragingly.  “I am a Pacifist and a socialist.  I don’t hold with soldiers or with keeping coloured races enslaved.  ‘England for English and India for the Indians’ is my motto.”