ugh they lived. Shouts greeted him, shouts in
which his surname and his Christian name and his nicknames were mingled,
and he smiled pleasantly back at his friends. Shere Ali looked at him.
From his cheery, honest face to the firm set of his feet upon the floor,
he was typical of his class and race.

"Oh, I hope he'll be beaten!"

Shere Ali found himself repeating the words in a whisper. The wish had
suddenly sprung up within him, but it grew in intensity; it became a
great longing. He looked anxiously for the appearance of the Jew from
Singapore. He was glad that, knowing little of either man, he had laid
his money against the soldier.

Meanwhile the two youths beside him resumed their talk, and Shere Ali
learned what it was that was not "good for us"!

"There were four girls," said the youth who had been most indignant.
"Four English girls dancing a _pas de quatre_ on the sand of the circus.
The dance was all right, the dresses were all right. In an English
theatre no one would have had a word to say. It was the audience that was
wrong. The cheaper parts at the back of the tent were crowded with
natives, tier above tier--and I tell you--I don't know much Hindustani,
but the things they shouted made my blood boil. After all, if you are
going to be the governing race it's not a good thing to let your women be
insulted, eh?"

Shere Ali laughed quietly. He could picture to himself the whole scene,
the floor of the circus, the tiers of grinning faces rising up against
the back walls of the tent.

"Did the girls themselves mind?" asked the other of the youths.

"They didn't understand." And again the angry utterance followed. "It
ought to be stopped! It ought to be stopped!"

Shere Ali turned suddenly upon the speaker.

"Why?" he asked fiercely, and he thrust a savage face towards him.

The young man was taken by surprise; for a second it warmed Shere Ali to
think that he was afraid. And, indeed, there was very little of the
civilised man in Shere Ali's look at this moment. His own people were
claiming him. It was one of the keen grim tribesmen of the hills who
challenged the young Englishman. The Englishman, however, was not afraid.
He was merely disconcerted by the unexpected attack. He recovered his
composure the next moment.

"I don't think that I was speaking to you," he said quietly, and then
turned away.

Shere Ali half rose in his seat. But he was not yet quite emancipated
from the traditions of his u