e
hot, burning breaks of blue sky and glaring sunlight had baked the road
into Indian-red dust once more, and the interior of Mhtoon Pah's curio
shop was heavy with stale scents and dark shadows that crept out as the
gloom of evening settled in upon it. Mhtoon Pah moved about looking at
his goods, and touching them with careful hands. He hovered over an
ivory lady carrying an umbrella, and looked long at a white marble
Buddha, who returned his look with an equally inscrutable regard. The
Buddha sat cross-legged, thinking for ever and ever about eternity, and
Mhtoon Pah moved round in red velvet toe-slippers, pattering lightly as
he went, for in spite of his bulk Mhtoon Pah had an almost soundless
walk. Having gone over everything and stood to count the silver bowls,
he waited as though he was listening, and after a little the light creak
of the staircase warned him that steps were coming towards the shop from
the upper rooms.

"Absalom," he called, and the steps hurried, and after a moment's talk
to which the boy listened carefully as though receiving directions, he
told him to close the shop and place his chair at the top of the steps,
as he desired to sit outside and look at the street.

When the chair was placed, Mhtoon Pah took up his elevated position and
smoked silently. The toil of the day was over, and he leaned his arm
along the back of his chair and crossed one leg over his knee. He could
hear Absalom closing the shop behind him, and he turned his curious,
expressionless eyes upon the boy as he passed down the steps and mingled
with the crowd in the street. Just opposite, a story-teller squatted on
the ground in the centre of a group of men who laughed and clapped their
hands, his flashing teeth and quick gesticulations adding to each point
he made; it was still clear enough to see his alternating expression of
assumed anger or amusement. It was clear enough to notice the coloured
scarves and smiling faces of a bullock cart full of girls going slowly
homewards, and it was clear enough to see and recognize the Rev. Francis
Heath, hurrying at speed between the crowd; clear enough to see the Rev.
Francis stop for a moment to wish his old pupil Absalom good evening,
and then vanish quickly like a figure flashed on a screen by a
cinematograph.

Lights came out in high windows and sounds of bagpipes and beating
tom-toms began inside the open doors of a nautch house. An evil-looking
house where green dragons curle