s.

"He has a reputation, that Mahatma, hasn't he?" I suggested. "You have
heard of the miracles that he performs?"

He nodded again.

"You see that he is talking to the chief mahout now? Take my word for
it, he is casting a spell on him! Would you like to have him cast a
spell on you too?"

He shook his head.

"Run swiftly then, and tell the Maharajah _sahib_ to get a Brahman to
cancel the spell, and you will be rewarded. Go quickly."

He dropped from the plank and went off at a run just as the Mahatma
turned and saw him. The Mahatma had been whispering in the mahout's ear,
and as his eye met mine I laughed. For a moment he watched the man
running, and then, as if to demonstrate what a strange mixture of a man
he was, he laughed back at me. He acknowledged defeat instantly, and did
not appear in the least annoyed by it, but on the contrary appeared to
accord me credit for outwitting him, as undoubtedly I had.

India is not a democratic country. Nobody is troubled about keeping the
underworld in its place, so mahout or sweeper has the ear of majesty as
readily as any other man, if not even more so. And it would not make the
slightest difference now what kind of cock and bull story the mahout
might tell to the Maharajah. However wild it might be it would certainly
include the fact that two white men had ridden to Yasmini's palace on
the Maharajah's favorite elephant after having been fished out of the
river by mahouts at the elephant's bathing ghat.

It was the likeliest thing in the world that representations would be
made that very afternoon by telegraph to the nearest important British
official, who would feel compelled to make inquiries. The British
Government can not afford to have even unknown white men mysteriously
made away with.

The Gray Mahatma took all that for granted and nodded comprehendingly.
His smile, as we neared Yasmini's palace gate, appeared to me to include
a perfect appreciation of the situation. He seemed to accept it as
candidly as he had acknowledged my frequent escapes the night before.

Ismail opened the gate without demur and Akbar sauntered in, being used
to palaces. He passed under the first arch into the second courtyard,
coming to a halt at a gate on the far side that was too small for his
enormous bulk where he proceeded to kneel without waiting for
instructions.

"Do you feel proud?" the Mahatma asked me unexpectedly as he climbed off
Akbar's neck.

Suspecting some sort