irm-featured face abounded
in good sense and good humour. "How shall a man see justly if he holds
the telescope wrong way round, as too many do over there. It also
remains true, however, that the manners of certain Anglo-Indians create
a lot of bad feeling. Your so-called reforms do not interest the masses
or touch their imagination. But the boot of the low-class European
touches their backs and their pride and hardens their hearts. That is
only human nature. In the East a few gold grains of courtesy touch the
heart more than a _khillat_[18] of political hotch-potch. I
myself--though it is getting dangerous to say so!--am frankly opposed to
this uncontrolled passion for reform. When all have done their duty in
this great struggle, why such undignified clamour for rewards, which are
now being flung back in the giver's teeth. It has become a vicious
circle. It was British policy in the first place--not so?--that stirred
up this superficial ferment; and now it grows alarming, it is doctored
with larger doses of the same medicine. We Indians who know how little
the bulk of India has really changed, could laugh at the tamasha of
Western fancy-dress, in small matters; but time for laughing has gone
by. Time has come for saying firmly--all rights and aspirations will be
granted, stopping _short_ of actual government--otherwise----!"

He flung up his hands, looked round at the listening faces, and realised
how completely he had let himself go. "Forgive me, Colonel. I fear I am
talking too much," he said in a changed tone.

"Indeed no," Colonel Leigh assured him warmly. "In these difficult days,
loyal and courageous friends like yourself are worth their weight in
gold mohurs!"

Visibly flattered, the Moslem surveyed his own bulky person with a
twinkle of amusement. "If value should go by weight, Inayat Khan would
be worth a king's ransom! But I assure you, Colonel, your country has
many hundreds of friends like myself all over India, if only she would
seek them out and give them encouragement--as Mr Sinclair said--instead
of wasting it on volubles, who will never cease making trouble till
India is in a blaze."

As the man's patent sincerity had warmed the hearts of his hearers, so
the pointed truth of that last pricked them sharply and probed deep. For
they knew themselves powerless; mere atoms of the whirling dust-cloud,
raised, in passing, by the chariot-wheels of Progress--or perdition?

The younger men rose briskly, as