w robe--which he presently exchanged for Shafto's
handkerchief--"the fright knocked it out of me!"

"So you're not a Burman?"

"Faix, I am not; I'm a native of Cork and was born in Madras, and only
for yer honour we'd all be floating down the Irrawaddy this blessed
minute."

His honour found it impossible to articulate; he merely stood and
gaped. The Irish _pongye_, born in Cork and Madras, was a tall, gaunt,
middle-aged man, with high cheek-bones, a closely-shorn head, and horn
spectacles.

"Might I ask yer name, sorr?" he inquired at last, "and where ye live?"

"My name is Shafto; I live in a chummery at the corner of Sandwith
Road."

"Oh, an' well I know it an' its old compound. They say it's full of
_nats_, because of a murder as was done there. My name is Mung Baw, at
yer service, and I'll not forget what ye did for me this day, and I'll
call round. Blessed hour! where's my begging-bowl?"

As soon as Shafto had discovered and restored his _patta_, the _pongye_
arose, gave himself a shake and, without another word, stalked away, a
tall, erect, unspeakably majestic figure.

When Shafto met Roscoe he lost no time in recounting his extraordinary
adventure, and added triumphantly:

"So you see, Joe Roscoe, you are not the only man here who makes a
strange acquaintance."

"I'm not surprised," he rejoined; "I've heard more than once of these
white _pongyes_. I dare say the chap will be as good as his word and
will look you up; I foresee an interesting interview."

In about three weeks Roscoe's prediction was verified. Returning home
late one evening Shafto was struck by the unusually impressive
appearance and gestures of the fat Madrassi butler who, beckoning him
aside with an air of alarming mystery, informed him that "someone was
in his room waiting to see his honour."

"In my room," he repeated indignantly. "Why the mischief did you put
him in there? Couldn't he sit in the veranda, like other people?"

"No, saar, he refused; he would not."

Shafto flung open the door of his apartment with a gesture of annoyance
and, to his profound amazement, discovered the _pongye_ seated in easy
comfort upon his bed. He was surrounded by an odd medicinal aromatic
atmosphere, his sandals, begging-bowl and umbrella were carefully
disposed beside him and he appeared to be thoroughly at home.

"I thought I'd give ye a call, sorr, before I went up country. I'm off
to Mandalay to-morrow on a pilgrimage."

"Oh