ness, and order.
The only stimulants in the crowd are betel nut and tobacco. All is
orderly and calm, and at any moment a word from the sahib will quell
any rising turbulence. It is now time for a still more scientific
exhibition.

Pat has a man, a tall, wiry, handsome Brahmin, who has never yet been
beaten. Young K. has long been jealous of his uniform success, and on
several occasions has brought an antagonist to battle with Pat's
champion. To-day he has got a sturdy young blacksmith, whom rumour
hath much vaunted, and although he is not so tall as Pat's wrestler,
his square, deep chest and stalwart limbs, give promise of great
strength and endurance.

As the two men strip and bound into the ring, there is the usual hush
of anticipation. Keen eyes scan the appearance of the antagonists.
They are both models of manly beauty. The blacksmith, though more
awkward in his motions, has a cool, determined look about him. The
Brahmin, conscious of his reputation, walks quickly up, with a smile
of rather ostentatious condescension on his finely cut features, and
offers his hand to the blacksmith. The little man is evidently
suspicious. He thinks this may be a deeply laid trap to get a grip
upon him. Nor does he like the bland patronising manner of
'Roopuarain,' so he surlily draws back, at which there is a roar of
laughter from the. crowd, in which we cannot help joining.

K. now comes forward, and pats his 'fancy man' on the back. The two
wrestlers thereupon shake hands, and then in the usual manner both
warily move backwards and forwards, till amid cries from the
onlookers, the blacksmith makes a sudden dash at the practised old
player, and in a moment has him round the waist.

He evidently depended on his superior strength. For a moment he fairly
lifted Roopnarain clean off his legs, swayed him to and fro, and with
a mighty strain tried to throw him to the ground. Bending to the
notes, Roopnarain allowed himself to yield, till his feet touched the
ground, then crouching like a panther, he bounded forward, and getting
his leg behind that of the blacksmith, by a deft side twist he nearly
threw him over. The little fellow, however, steadied himself on the
ground with one hand, recovered his footing, and again had the Brahmin
firmly locked in his tenacious hold. Roopuarain did not like the grip.
These were not the tactics he was accustomed to. While the other
tugged and strained, he, quietly yielding his lithe lissome frame