eferentially.

The Heaven-born set no particular store by it; but of what use was a
polo-ball to a _khitmatgar_?

'By Your Honour's favour, I have a little son. He has seen this ball,
and desires it to play with, I do not want it for myself.'

No one would for an instant accuse portly old Imam Din of wanting to
play with polo-balls. He carried out the battered thing into the
verandah; and there followed a hurricane of joyful squeaks, a patter
of small feet, and the _thud-thud-thud_ of the ball rolling along
the ground. Evidently the little son had been waiting outside the
door to secure his treasure. But how had he managed to see that
polo-ball?

Next day, coming back from office half an hour earlier than usual, I
was aware of a small figure in the dining-room--a tiny, plump figure
in a ridiculously inadequate shirt which came, perhaps, halfway down
the tubby stomach. It wandered round the room, thumb in mouth,
crooning to itself as it took stock of the pictures. Undoubtedly this
was the 'little son.'

He had no business in my room, of course; but was so deeply absorbed
in his discoveries that he never noticed me in the doorway. I stepped
into the room and startled him nearly into a fit. He sat down on the
ground with a gasp. His eyes opened, and his mouth followed suit. I
knew what was coming, and fled, followed by a long, dry howl which
reached the servants' quarters far more quickly than any command of
mine had ever done. In ten seconds Imam Din was in the dining-room.
Then despairing sobs arose, and I returned to find Imam Din
admonishing the small sinner who was using most of his shirt as a
handkerchief.

'This boy,' said Imam Din judicially, 'is a _budmash_--a big
_budmash_. He will, without doubt, go to the _jail-khana_, for his
behaviour.' Renewed yells from the penitent, and an elaborate
apology to myself from Imam Din.

Tell the baby,' said I, 'that the _Sahib_ is not angry, and take him
away.' Imam Din conveyed my forgiveness to the offender, who had now
gathered all his shirt round his neck, stringwise, and the yell
subsided into a sob. The two set off for the door. 'His name,' said
Imam Din, as though the name were part of the crime, 'is Muhammad
Din, and he is a _budmash_.' Freed from present danger, Muhammad Din
turned round in his father's arms, and said gravely, 'It is true that
my name is Muhammad Din, _Tahib_, but I am not a _budmash_. I am a
_man_!'

From that day dated my acquaintance wi