ost something of his
fine, arrogant hearing and conscious superiority.

"All lite?" whined the voice insistently. "All lite?" "Yes," said the
Bishop shortly, "it's all right." He strode rapidly through the foul
room, through the heavy, tainted, pungent air. Outside, the dense
crowd pressed closely about the swinging doors scattered widely as he
approached. Two policemen were coming down the street, attracted by
the excitement of the crowd. The Bishop got into a rickshaw and drove
homewards. A heavy weight seemed to have been lifted from his mind.
Through the oppressive, hot night air the Canterbury chimes pealed
their mellow notes.

"Thank God," said the Bishop fervently, "it was not _my_ nephew."

UNDER A WINEGLASS

VIII

UNDER A WINEGLASS

A little coasting steamer dropped anchor at dawn at the mouth of
Chanta-Boun creek, and through the long, hot hours she lay there,
gently stirring with the sluggish tide, waiting for the passage-junk
to come down from Chanta-Boun town, twelve miles further up the river.
It was stifling hot on the steamer, and from side to side, whichever
side one walked to, came no breeze at all. Only the warm, enveloping,
moist heat closed down, stifling. Very quiet it was, with no noises or
voices from the after deck, where under the awning lay the languid
deck passengers, sleeping on their bedding rolls. Very quiet it was
ashore, so still and quiet that one could hear the bubbling, sucking
noises of the large land-crabs, pattering over the black, oozy mud, or
the sound of a lean pig scratching himself against the piles of a
native hut, the clustered huts, mounted on stilts, of the village at
the mouth of the creek.

The Captain came down from the narrow bridge into the narrow saloon.
He was clad in yellow pajamas, his bare feet in native sandals, and
held a well pipeclayed topee in one hand. Impatient he was at the
delay of the passage-junk coming down from up-river, with her possible
trifling cargo, and possible trifling deck-passengers, of which the
little steamer already carried enough.

"This long wait--it is very annoying," he commented, sitting upon the
worn leather cushions of the saloon bench. "And I had wished for time
enough to stop to see the lonely man. I have made good time on this
trip--all things considered. With time to spare, to make that call,
out of our way. And now the good hours go by, while we wait here,
uselessly."

"The lonely man?" asked the pas