Part 20 (1/2)
'Who? thyself!' came viciously from the foremost row of priests. 'Where is thy sacred thread, apostate?'
Chris flinched for the first time. It was true. In a fit of anger when his own received him not, he had removed the badge of the twice-born with his own hands. So he had nothing to which he could appeal. Nothing old or new!
'Listen!' he began again helplessly, and the crowd feeling the helplessness surged closer.
'Kill him!' said one voice, dominating the others by the very simplicity of its advice. 'He is nothing. He is not of us, nor of the _Huzoors_. Who wants him?'
Another instant and the advice might have been followed had not some one claimed poor Chris--had not a voice from behind said softly--
'Well! I'm dashed if it ain't the guv'nor! Now then! you n.i.g.g.e.rs!'
The next instant, with a plentiful if quite good-natured use of heels and elbows, Chris Davenant's foreman of works was through the crowd into the water, and so, facing round on those threatening faces, was backing towards Chris, and making furious feints with his fists the while.
'_Ram-ram_, gents,' he said affably. 'Now, w'ot you've got to do is to tell me w'ot all this is about. W'ot are you doin' to my guv'nor? Don't you speak, sir!' he added in a hasty whisper. 'I don't really want to know nothing. You and me's got to get out o' this galley, thet's all.
An' if we don't,' he continued philosophically, 'you'll 'ave to explain up top, and I kin listen then. Them kind o' words ain't no use down 'ere. Lem'me speak mine!'
With that he ceased sparring, walked two paces forwards in the water, put his hands in his trousers-pockets, and began on his lingo coolly--
'_Dekko_ (look here), you want this _admi_ (man) _abhi_ (now), but you ain't goin' to get 'im. _Tumhara nahin_ (not yours). He's mine, _mera admi_ (my man), _sumjha_? (do you understand?) If you want _lurro_ (fight), come on. You shall 'ave a bellyful, an' there'll be a plenty on you to _phansi_ (hang). But w'ot I say is, don't be _pargul soors_ (foolish pigs). I don't do your bally 'ole temples any 'arm. It's ”_durm shaster ram-ram_[14] an' _hurry gunga_,” so far's I care. But this man's my guv'nor. You don't touch 'im. _Kubhi nahin_ (never). I'm a _nek admi, burra usseel_ (virtuous man, very gentle) w'en I'm took the right way; contrariwise I'm _zulm_ an' _ficker_ an' _burra burra affut_. Now you ask ole 'Oneyman if I ain't. 'E knows both sides o'
Jan-Ali-shan, and 'e'll give 'is opinion, like the genl'eman 'e is.'
He paused, for an idea, a chance had suggested itself. Then at the top of his voice, with a devil-may-care lilt in it, he began--
'Click, click?
Like a monkey on a stick.'
The answer followed in a second. With rustlings and boundings the monkeys came to the rescue of the familiar voice; for the crowd behind, weary of being unable to see what was pa.s.sing in front, turned instinctively to the new interest, and so, losing cohesion, the mult.i.tude lost unity of purpose also for the moment.
'Now's your time, sir,' shouted John Ellison; 'keep close to me!' Then with a wild yell of
'Clear the decks, comrades,'
he rushed head down at the fat stomach of the chief priest, bowled him over, and treating the rest as he would have treated a crush at football, found himself, with Chris at his heels, on the top of the steps almost before the crowd had realised what was happening.
'Pull up, sir,' he said, pausing breathlessly; 'never run a hinch more nor you can 'elp with n.i.g.g.e.rs. An' they'll be all right now we're off them steps. I know 'em! As peaceable a lot as ever lived, if you don't touch their wimmin or their G.o.ds.'
And with that he turned to the peaceable lot with his usual urbanity.
'_Ram-ram_, gents. I done you no 'arm, and you done me no 'arm. That's as it should be. So good afternoon. _Salaam alackoom!_--Now then, sir, you come along to my diggin's an' get your pants.'
But as they hurried off to the Strangers' Home, he shook his head gravely.
'If it hadn't bin for my bein' in a surplus ch.o.r.e seven year, and so knowin'
”Lord a' mercy”