In due course the chief and his retinue arrived, and were met with great politeness and many salaams by Shah Sowar; but that worthy managed to whisper in the chief’s ear the sad intelligence that this was one of his master’s bad days, and that the Evil Spirit was upon him.  “Nevertheless be pleased to enter,” he added aloud; “His Highness will be glad to see you.”

The exceedingly restricted area of the tent prevented a large assembly, but the chief, his brother, and Shah Sowar managed to squeeze in and squat down.  After exchanging salutations the chief gravely stroked his beard, and gave vent to a few polite expressions of welcome.  To these Sheikh Abdul Qadir vouchsafed no reply beyond a grunt.  The chief glanced at Shah Sowar, and that excellent comedian, assuming the ashamed look of one disgraced by his master’s rudeness, at once made a long-winded and complimentary reply in the most fluent and high-flown Persian.  Then, before the effect should be lost, he ordered in tea, and commenced an animated conversation with the two strangers, all parties absolutely ignoring, out of politeness, Sheikh Abdul Qadir and his Evil Spirit.  Thus anxiously skating over the thin ice, Shah Sowar at last, with a feeling of infinite relief, bowed out the visitors, charmed with his excellent manners and quite unsuspecting that they had sat for half-an-hour within two feet of a British officer.  When the time for the return visit came, Shah Sowar went alone to make the readily accepted excuse that his master was not in a fit state that day to fulfil social obligations.

Thus the ready wit and resource of Shah Sowar piloted the party through many dangerous waters, till one day they chanced across a nomad tribe under a venerable white-bearded chief, who could count a thousand spears at his beck and call.  The usual visits of ceremony had been paid and tided over somehow, and the travellers were resting during the heat of the afternoon, when a confidential servant of the White Beard came to Shah Sowar and said that his master had sent for him.  A peremptory call like this boded no good, but by way of getting a further puff to show which way the wind blew, Shah Sowar assumed a haughty air.  “Peace be unto you,” he said; “there is no hurry.  I will come when I am sufficiently rested, and have received permission from my own master.”  “Be advised by me, who wish you no harm, to come at once, as the matter is of importance,” replied the messenger.  “Oh, very well,” grumbled Shah Sowar, feeling that trouble was in the air; “I will come.”

When he arrived at the camp of the White Beard he was immediately ushered into his tent, and there found the old warrior seated cross-legged on a rich carpet, and gravely stroking his beard.  “Look here, Shah Sowar,” said he with soldierly directness, “it is no good lying to me.  That is a sahib you have with you.  I have been to Bushire, and I know an Englishman when I see him.”

Shah Sowar was prepared for this, but, by way of gaining time, he answered:  “Your Excellency’s cleverness is extraordinary; to lie to your Highness would be the work only of a fool.  Perchance my master may be a sahib, but there are many nations of sahibs, and why should this one be English?” “Peace, prattler!” sternly replied the old autocrat; “there is only one nation of real sahibs, and they are English.”