Part 19 (1/2)
But poor Chris, far off as he was, had grasped the truth and turned hot and cold, long before Jan-Ali-shan said in an awed whisper--
'Wherever in the nation _did_ 'ole 'Oneyman raise them dress bags?' He turned to the bystanders appealingly as he spoke, but their faces, as they gathered round in a circle, echoed his own surprise.
'Well, I am dashed!' he said softly; 'this beats c.o.c.kfightin'.'
It did, for Sri Hunuman having by this time grasped the fact that dignity was incompatible with dinner, had thrown the former aside, and having rolled the trousers hastily into a ball, had sat down on it, as on a cus.h.i.+on, while he reached round for sugar drops with both paws.
Whereupon the original thief, thinking he saw an opportunity, made a s.n.a.t.c.h at the braces, which still streamed over the steps. To no purpose, however, since 'Oneyman only clapped both paws behind, and, the cus.h.i.+on still _in situ_, hopped to another place.
A roar of amus.e.m.e.nt echoed out over the steps, and half-a-dozen youngsters, fired with ambition, tried the same game; also without success. Sri Honeyman eluded every clutch, even the despairing one which Chris, m.u.f.fled to the eyes in his ascetic's shawl, laid on those streaming braces. They came off in his hands to the crowd's huge delight.
”_Ari_, brother, thou hast the tail anyhow!” said some in congratulation, but poor Chris cursed inwardly. What were braces without the trousers to wear with them?
John Ellison, meanwhile, half choked with laughter, and drunk with mirth, was rolling about, kicking legs and arms, and shouting, ”Go it, 'Oneyman! Go it, sonny!” until from some of the disappointed came the murmur that Jan-Ali-shan had better try and get the trousers himself, though all Mai Kali's priests with sticks and staves had not been equal to making the old monkey give up the sugar! On this he rose breathlessly and looked round.
”You bet,” he said, ”it's Rule Britannier, that's w'ot it is.”
Whereupon he took another paper bag of sugar drops from his pocket and walked up to the culprit.
”_Shab-bas.h.!.+_ 'Oneyman,” he said, with his usual affability, ”you done that uncommon well. If ever you're in want of the s.h.i.+ny, they'd give you a fiver for that interlood at a music 'all. But time's up, sonny.
Your turn's over. So just you change bags like a good boy or ”--The rest of the sentence was a melodious whistling of
”Britons never, never will be slaves,”
a dexterous emptying of the bribe, and an equally dexterous clutch at the trousers, accompanied by a forcible kick behind. The three combined were instantly successful, and there was Jan-Ali-shan carefully dusting his new possession. Then he held them up, and said suavely--
”Fair exchange ain't no robbery; but if any gent owns these pants, let 'im utter”--which remark he translated in hideous Hindustani into ”_Koi admi upna breeches hai, bolo!_”
For one short second Chris felt inclined to brave the situation. Then, as usual, he hesitated; so the moment of salvation pa.s.sed. John Ellison rolled up his prize, put them under his arm, and with a general ”_Ram-ram_” to the bystanders, and an affectionate wave of the hand to old 'Oneyman, walked off cheerily whistling,
”This is no my plaid, my plaid, my plaid.”
Chris looked after him helplessly, then went back to his tree hopelessly. He could not return home, by broad daylight, in any possible permutation or combination of a swallow-tailed coat and a devotee's _dhoti_. The only thing to be done was to wait for kindly concealing night.
Being Sunday, he would not be missed till noon, for his wife was a late riser. Even then she would not be alarmed; indeed, he had often stayed out all day without her taking the trouble to ask where he had been.
That thought decided him to stay where and as he was. Besides, despite the shameful absurdity of the cause, the result was in a way, pleasant.
It was something to be _sent_ back without responsibility to the old life even for a few hours, and a spirit of adventure woke in him as he remembered the things possible to one of his caste. Any one, for instance, would feed a Brahmin; and so, after secreting the remainder of his clothes beyond the reach of monkeys under a heap of the ruined wall, until he found an opportunity of removing them altogether, he set off boldly to beg breakfast in the city. The sun, now high in the heavens, smote on his bare limbs--so long unaccustomed to the warm stimulating caress--with all the intoxication of a new physical pleasure. But there was another touch, still more stimulating, which came to him first in a narrow side street close to the city gate; a street all sun and shade in bars, with women's chatter, women's laughter echoing from within the courtyard doors. Doors all closed save this, the first, which had opened at his cry for alms, to let a woman's hand slip through. That reverent touch on his palm, so soft, so kind; that glimpse of a full petticoat, a jewel-covered throat, made his brain reel with recollection, his heart leap with the possibilities it suggested. How many years was it since he had seen a Brahmin woman wors.h.i.+pping her husband? That had been his mother, and he might have had such a wife as she had been to his father, if he had chosen; almost, if he chose.
The suggestion repelled yet attracted him, and, after a time, half in curiosity, half in affection, he turned his steps to the well-remembered alley where his mother still lived. He had been to see her, of course, when he first returned to India, but inevitably as an alien; and after his refusal to do penance, he had not gone at all. She had, in fact, refused to receive him. So his heart beat as he stood m.u.f.fled in his devotee's drapery before the door, through which he had so often pa.s.sed to wors.h.i.+p clinging to her skirts, and gave his beggar's cry--
'_Alakh!_ for s.h.i.+v's sake.'
There was no need to repeat it; for this was a pious house. The low door opened wide, and a young girl held out an alms with the mechanical precision of practice.
'For s.h.i.+v's sake,' she echoed monotonously, 'and for the sake of a son who has wandered from the true fold.'
Her voice held no trace of feeling, but Chris fell back with a stifled cry. For he knew what the words meant; knew that he was the wanderer.