“Well, I have already informed you that there is no truth in the reports that troops were to be sent again to Buxa Duar,” said Chunerbutty, reassured.  “On the frontier there are only the two hundred Military Police at Ranga Duar.  They are Punjaubi Mohammedans.  I made the acquaintance of the officer commanding them last night.”

“Ah!  What is he like?” enquired the Dewan, interested.

“Inquisitive, but a fool—­like all these officers,” replied the engineer contemptuously.  “He noticed Narain Dass on our garden and saw that he was a Bengali.  He learned that others of us were employed on our estate and was surprised that Brahmins should do coolie work.  But he suspected nothing.”

“You are sure?” asked the Dewan.

“Quite certain.”

The Dewan shook his head doubtfully.

“These English officers are not always the fools they seem,” he observed.  “We must keep an eye on this inquisitive person.  Now, how goes the work among the garden coolies?  Are they ripe for revolt?”

“Not yet on all the estates.  They are ignorant cattle, and to them the Motherland means nothing.  But on our garden our greatest helper is the manager, a drunken bully.  He ill-treats the coolies and nearly kicked one to death the other day.”

“That’s how the Englishman always treats the native, isn’t it?” asked the Hebrew representative of an English constituency.

“Always and everywhere,” replied the engineer unhesitatingly, wondering if Macgregor were really fool enough to believe the libel, which one day’s experience in India should have shown him to be false.  But this foreign Jew turned Scotchman hated the country of his adoption, as only these gentry do, and was ready to believe any lie against it and eager to do all in his power to injure it.

The Dewan said: 

“Mr. Macgregor has been sent to tell us that his party pledges itself to help us in Parliament.”

“Yes, you need have no fear.  We’ll see that justice is done you,” began the politician in his best tub-thumping manner.  “We Socialists and Communists are determined to put an end to tyranny and oppression, whether of the downtrodden slaves of Capitalism at home or our coloured brothers abroad.  The British working-man wants no colonies, no India.  He is determined to change everything in England and do away with all above him—­kings, lords, aristocrats, and the bourgeoisie.  He demands Revolution, and we’ll give it him.”

“Pardon me, Mr. Macgregor,” remarked the engineer.  “I’ve lived among British working-men, when I was in the shops, but I never found that they wanted revolution.”

The Member of Parliament looked at him steadily for a moment and grinned.

“You’re no fool, Mr. Chunerbutty.  You’re a lad after my own heart.  You know a thing or two.  Perhaps you’re right.  But the British working-man lets us represent him, and we know what’s good for him, if he don’t.  We Socialists run the Labour Party, and I promise you we’ll back you up in Parliament if you rebel and drive the English out of India.”