n expressed the same
opinions to me, in identically the same words, this morning."

"Mr. Westonhaugh?"

"No. You know very well that Mr. Westonhaugh cares nothing about it, one
way or the other. The little plan for 'amusing brother John' is a hoax.
The thing cannot be done. You might as well try to amuse an undertaker
as to make a man from Bombay laugh. The hollowness of life is ever upon
them. No. It was Kildare; he called and said that Miss Westonhaugh had
never seen a tiger, and he seemed anxious to impress upon me his
determination that she should. Pshaw! what does Kildare care about
brother John?"

"Brother John, as you call him, is a better fellow than he looks. I owe
a great deal to brother John." Isaacs' olive skin flushed a little, and
he emphasised the epithet by which I had designated Mr. John Westonhaugh
as if he were offended by it.

"I mean nothing against Mr. Westonhaugh," said I half apologetically. "I
remember when you met yesterday afternoon you said you had seen him in
Bombay a long time ago."

"Do you remember the story I told you of myself the other night?"

"Perfectly."

"Westonhaugh was the young civil servant who paid my fine and gave me a
rupee, when I was a ragged sailor from a Mocha craft, and could not
speak a word of English. To that rupee I ultimately owe my entire
fortune. I never forget a face, and I am sure it is he--do you
understand me now? I owe to his kindness everything I possess in the
world."

"The unpardonable sin is ingratitude," I answered, "of which you will
certainly not be accused. That is a very curious coincidence."

"I think it is something more. A man has always at least one opportunity
of repaying a debt, and, besm Illah! I will repay what I can of it. By
the beard of the apostle, whose name is blessed, I am not ungrateful!"
Isaacs was excited as he said this. He was no longer the calm Mr.
Isaacs, he was Abdul Hafiz the Persian, fiery and enthusiastic.

"You say well, my friend," he continued earnestly, "that the
unpardonable sin is ingratitude. Doubtless, had the blessed prophet of
Allah lived in our day, he would have spoken of the doom that hangs over
the ungrateful. It is the curse of this age; for he who forgets or
refuses to remember the kindness done to him by others sets himself
apart, and worships his miserable self, and he makes an idol of himself,
saying, 'I am of more importance than my fellows in the world, and it is
meet and right that they sh