n without alteration be transferred to canvas. But the
Treasury of Boondi, the view up the long verandah, stood complete and
ready for any artist who cared to make it his own. And by that lighter
and less malicious irony of Fate, who is always giving nuts to those who
have no teeth, the picture was clinched and brought together by a
winking, brass hookah-bowl of quaint design, pitched carelessly upon a
roll of dull red cloth in the foreground. The faces of the accountants
were of pale gold, for they were an untanned breed, and the face of the
old man, their controller, was frosted silver.

It was a strange Treasury, but no other could have suited the Palace.
The Englishman watched, open-mouthed, blaming himself because he could
not catch the meaning of the orders given to the flying chaprassies, nor
make anything of the hum in the verandah and the tumult on the stairs.
The old man took the commonplace currency note and announced his
willingness to give change in silver. "We have no small notes here," he
said. "They are not wanted. In a little while, when you next bring the
Honour of your Presence this way, you shall find the silver."

The Englishman was taken down the steps and fell into the arms of a
bristly giant who had left his horse in the courtyard, and the giant
spoke at length waving his arms in the air, but the Englishman could not
understand him and dropped into the hubbub at the Palace foot. Except
the main lines of the building there is nothing straight or angular
about it. The rush of people seems to have rounded and softened every
corner, as a river grinds down boulders. From the lowest tier, two
zigzags, all of rounded stones sunk in mortar, took the Englishman to a
gate where two carved elephants were thrusting at each other over the
arch; and, because neither he nor any one round him could give the gate
a name, he called it the "Gate of the Elephants." Here the noise from
the Treasury was softened, and entry through the gate brought him into a
well-known world, the drowsy peace of a King's Palace. There was a
courtyard surrounded by stables, in which were kept chosen horses, and
two or three grooms were sleeping in the sun. There was no other life
except the whir and coo of the pigeons. In time--though there really is
no such a thing as time off the line of railway--an official appeared
begirt with the skewer-like keys that open the native bayonet-locks,
each from six inches to a foot long. Where was th