hin
white--like the son of a prince--but he was very frail; and ninety-odd
thousand people sent his name, with the name of Neela Deo, up into the
Indian night--for the Indian gods to hear.

Neela Deo was barely in on the sanded disk, when the elephants lifted
their heads as one and saluted him with an earth-rocking blast; again
and yet again. Then he thrust his head forward, reached his
trumpet-tip--quivering before him--and made speed till he came close to
the Chief Commissioner's place, where he rendered one soft salute and
wheeled into position by the stand. This was a movement no one had
anticipated. Nothing like it was in the plan; the Chief Commissioner
had not intended to ride! But Neela Deo demanded him and there was
nothing for it but to go; so with a very white face, he stepped into
the howdah.

Waves upon waves of enthusiasm swept the multitude. They shouted to
heaven--for all time it was established. No man could ever deny
it--Neela Deo himself had made his meaning perfectly plain, that he had
done the marvel thing sixteen weeks before, to save the life of his
friend--their friend! They stood up and flung their flower-garlands on
both of them--as Neela Deo, with a stately tread, carried the Chief
Commissioner around the circle. The nautch-girls sprang from their
platforms into the middle of the arena and danced their most wonderful
dances--tossing the fallen garlands, like forest fairies at play.

Then a thousand voices lifted upon the great chorus of laudation, which
had been prepared in high-processional time; the drums and the sitars
furnishing a dim background for the volume of sound. The elephants
turned out of their stations as Neela Deo passed them and came into
their accustomed formation behind him. The tread of four times forty
such ponderous feet, in perfect time with the music, shook the earth.

The chorus told the story of the incredible manner of their Chief
Commissioner's deliverance; it exalted his record and his character; it
pledged the preservation of his fame. Then a master-mahout from High
Himalaya went alone to the centre of the disk and in incomparable
tones--such as master-mahouts use--having no accompaniment at all, told
the story of Neela Deo's birthright. The people were utterly hushed;
but the elephants kept their even pace--as if listening. Then the
great chorus came back, rendering the acknowledgment of a human race.

At last the multitude rose up and loosed its