hoot_."[61]

[61] An insulting epithet.

"Sahib!" said the man again.

The Colonel looked up and then sprang to his feet with outstretched
hand.

"_Bahut salaam_,[62] Subedar Major Saheb," he cried, and wrung the hand
of the "big fat buck-nigger" (who possessed the same medal-ribbons that
he himself did) as he poured forth a torrent of mingled Pushtu, Urdu,
and English while the Native Officer alternately saluted and pressed
the Colonel's hand to his forehead in transports of pure and wholly
disinterested joy.

[62] Hearty greeting.

"They told me the Colonel Sahib would be passing through this week," he
said, "and I have met all the trains that I might look upon his face. I
am weary of my furlough and would rejoin but for my law-suit. Praise be
to Allah that I have met my Colonel Sahib," and the man who had five war
decorations was utterly unashamed of the tear that trickled.

"How does my son, Sahib?" he asked in Urdu.

"Well, Subedar Major Saheb, well. Worthily of his father--whose place in
the _pultan_ may he come to occupy."

"Praise be to God, Sahib! Let him no more seek his father's house nor
look upon his father's face again, if he please thee not in all things.
And is there good news of Malet-Marsac Sahib, O Colonel Sahib?" Then,
with a glance at Horace, he asked: "Why does this low-born one dare to
enter the carriage of the Colonel Sahib and sit? Truly the _relwey
terain_ is a great caste-breaker! Clearly he belongs to the class of the
_ghora-log_, the common soldiers." ...

"'Oo was that,--a Rajah?" inquired the astounded Horace, as the train
moved on.

"One of the people who keep India safe for you bagmen," replied the
Colonel, who was a trifle indignant on behalf of the insulted Subedar
Major Mir Daoud Khan Mir Hafiz Ullah Khan of the 99th Baluch Light
Infantry.

"No doubt he thought I was another officer," reflected Horace. "They
think you're a gent, if you chivvy 'em."

At Umbalpur Colonel Wilberforce Wriothesley left the train and Mr.
Faggit had the carriage to himself--for a time.

And it was only through his own firmness and proper pride that he had it
to himself for so long, for at the very next station a beastly little
brute of a black man actually tried to get in--in with _him_, Mr. Horace
Faggit of the fine old British Firm of Schneider, Schnitzel, Schnorrer &
Schmidt, manufacturers of best quality Birmingham jewellery and
"importers" of a fine Whitechapel wine.

But Horace