Rajah.

"Ordered? I am sick of his orders," replied the son, petulantly. "Am I his
dog that he should order me? I am not a Lalpuri now. I am a British
subject."

"Thy father eats the Rajah's salt. Thou forgettest that the _Dewan_ found
the money to send thee across the Black Water to learn thy trade."

The younger man frowned discontentedly.

"Well, I see not the colour of his money now. Why should I obey him? I will
not."

"Softly, softly, son. There be many knives in the bazaars of the city that
will seek out any man's heart at the _Dewan's_ bidding. Thou art a man of
Lalpuri still."

His son rose discontentedly from his chair.

"_Kali_ smite him with smallpox. I suppose it were better to see what he
wants. I shall go."

Admitted to the presence of the _Dewan_, Chunerbutty's defiant manner
dropped from him, for he had always held that official in awe. His swagger
vanished; he bent low and his hand went up to his head in a salaam. The
Premier of the State, a wrinkled old Brahmin, was seated on the ground
propped up by white bolsters, with a small table, a foot high, crowded with
papers in front of him. He was dressed simply and plainly in white cotton
garments, a small coloured _puggri_ covering his shaved head. Although
reputed the possessor of finer jewels than the Rajah he wore no ornaments.

Sprawling in an easy chair opposite him was a fat European in a tight white
linen suit buttoned up to the neck. He evidently felt the heat acutely, and
with a large coloured handkerchief he incessantly wiped his red face, down
which the sweat rolled in oily drops, and mopped his bald head.

When Chunerbutty entered the apartment the _Dewan_, without any greeting
indicated him, saying:

"This, Mr. Macgregor, is an example of what all we Indians shall be when
relieved of the tyranny of British officials and allowed to govern
ourselves."

His English was perfect.

The bearer of the historic Highland name, whose appearance suggested rather
a Hebrew patronymic, removed from his mouth the cigar that he was smoking
and asked in a guttural voice:

"Who is the young man?"

The _Dewan_ briefly explained, then, turning to Chunerbutty, he said:

"This is Mr. Donald Macgregor, M.P., a member of the Labour Party and a
true friend of India. You may speak freely before him. Sit down."

The engineer looked around in vain for another chair. The _Dewan_ said
sharply in Bengali, using the familiar, and in this case contemptuou