'_Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star. Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_.'

'Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star. Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_.'

'Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star. Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_.'

The d.a.m.nable iteration went on and on, the fiddles tw.a.n.gled and squeaked, the drum bangers banged, the nautch-girl sidled, and smirked, and shrilled.

'_Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star. Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_.'

Lesley Drummond, sitting in the front row of guests at the reception given by the n.o.bles and landed proprietors of the Province to welcome Sir George Arbuthnot to his new office, shut her eyes at last in sheer despair of being able to reconcile the senses of hearing and sight; then opened them again to stare with unappeasable curiosity into the blaze of light, veiled by a fine film of misty smoke, in which all things seemed clear, yet dim.

It came from the prism-hung chandeliers which hid the low white-marble ceiling, from the wretched paraffin wall-lamps hung against the white-marble pillars, from the paper lanterns swinging from the scalloped white-marble arches. But it came most of all from the garden beyond the arches in which this white-marble summer-palace of a dynasty of dead kings stood, centring the formal walks and watercourses; for it was lit up in long close rows of soft twinkling lights stretching away into the purple shadows of the night, until, climbing to every line, every curve of the purple shadow of the distant city, they showed like new stars upon the purple shadow of the sky.

The radiance of it, the brilliance of it, dazzled the eyes; the dimness, the misty dreaminess of it clouded the brain. She felt drugged, hypnotised out of realities, as she looked towards the dais where Sir George, the Star of his Order almost hidden by one of the huge tinsel garlands which had been thrown round the neck of the guests as they entered, sat in a gilt chair, his solitary figure outlined harshly, by reason of his dark political uniform, against the background of white-marble tracery. Thence she looked to the English ladies in gay _decolletes_ dresses who, with a sprinkling of black coats and red tunics, banked the dais on either side. So to the line of officials and soldiers edging the gangway below the dais. Finally, on to the hosts themselves who sate behind in rows. Rows on rows ablaze with colour and sparkle. Rows on rows imperturbable, pa.s.sive, without a smile or a frown for the scene in which they bore so large a part.

So far, however, despite those great tinsel garlands which were so distracting a novelty upon black coats, scarlet tunics, and _decolletes_ dresses, a certain relevancy to the central idea, embodied in that solitary figure of an elderly Englishman raised above the rest, was not wanting in the details of the spectacle.

But what, thought Lesley, could be said of that group upon the square of red and green-flowered Brussels carpet spread immediately in front of the dais? Spread between the gilt sofa where she sat with Jerry between her and Lady Arbuthnot, and a similar gilt sofa on the other side occupied by the general's wife and her two daughters.

What an inconceivably unsuitable surrounding they made, five Englishwomen and a child, to those other five and a child? Two ragged drum bangers, two dissipated fiddle and guitar tw.a.n.gers, a dreamy-looking boy doing nothing, and the usual posturing dancer, stout as to figure, bunchy as to petticoats, with glued bandeaux of hair and a nasal quavering voice which paused only for furtive swallowings of the betel-nut she was chewing all too palpably!

'_Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star_.' She trilled with an affable, opulent curve of hip and hand towards the _sahib logue_ collectively, for whose delectation she was singing 'Englis fa.s.sen'; an accomplishment she had learned from a girl who had been taught hymns in a mission school.

'_Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_'--she simpered with a special coquettish flirt of her fingers and full petticoat for that respectable father of a family, Sir George, who, honest man, sat horribly conscious, still more horribly bored, yet patient, waiting for the master of the ceremonies to ask him if he had had enough.

Enough?

He looked past the pirouettings to that thin line of white faces, bored yet patient like his own, which fringed those rows on rows of impa.s.sive dark ones, and stifled his yawns duteously for the sake of the Empire.

No such reasons of state, however, swayed Jerry, who, dapper and dainty in knee-breeches, silk stockings, ruffles, and a little garland of his own, sate fidgeting and yawning, yawning and fidgeting. As he looked across the pirouettings he could see his dearest Mr. Raymond dozing with dignity in a chair opposite, with a peculiarly magnificent garland festooned over him. It was bigger than anybody's but dad's, Jerry told himself, feeling a trifle aggrieved, and he wanted to ask why it was so large, when Mr. Raymond was sitting oh! ever so far back!

'_Tinkle, tinkle, ootel ish-star!_'

The drums banged, the fiddles squeaked, the dancer postured, and Jerry yawned with commendable monotony, till, suddenly, the little lad's patience gave way at the two hundred and fifty-sixth time of asking the question--'_Ha-a-vunder vart-oo-ar_.'

'Please!' he said, in his clear child's voice, 'it is the Star of India dad's wearin'. The Queen gave it him for doin' his duty.'

'Hush--hush, Jerry!' came breathlessly from his guardians, but the connection of ideas had been too palpable. A t.i.tter which broke from the ladies behind him made Nevill Lloyd--who as aide-de-camp flanked the dais, resplendent in his horse artillery uniform--absolutely choke in his effort to be dignified, and the joyous crow which resulted quite upset the general commanding. Then this chuckle from the right row of officialdom did for the Secretary-to-Government heading the left, so that his gurgle was the signal for a general roar of laughter to go echoing up into the arches; general so far only as the white faces were concerned. The dark ones of the hosts were immovable, keeping even their surprise to themselves.

'Some one ought, surely, to explain,' said Lesley with a half-puzzled frown, as, the laughter ending, a general stir of relieved chatter showed that the audience had seized on the interruption as an end.

'Explain, my dear?' echoed Sir George, when his wife took advantage of the stir to repeat Lesley's suggestion, and point out the dancing-girl standing sullen, uncertain, whispering to the drum and fiddle; 'I don't think it's worth it, and I don't see how it's to be done. Besides, they ought to have laughed too--they really ought! That crow of Lloyd's----'

'I'm awfully sorry, sir,' put in the offender, trying to be penitent through his smiles; 'I'll tell you what I'll do, Lady Arbuthnot.

Raymond is bossing the supper for them from the club, and all that.

He's president of the committee of entertainment, so I'll get him----'

Sir George frowned. 'We needn't trouble Mr. Raymond, Captain Lloyd.

And as for the interruption, Grace, it rested with me to stop the nautch-girl at any time, and they saw we were amused. That is really all they want.'

'Just so, sir,' a.s.sented the Secretary-to-Government, a trifle ashamed of his lapse from strict etiquette. 'And she had been at it nearly the proper time. Only five minutes short of the half-hour we gave them. And you can use those, sir--as the fireworks will barely be ready--in having some of the notables up for a talk. That will set the business more than right.'

It seemed so, indeed, judging by the radiant faces of the favoured few, and the hopeful interest of the many, who crowded round, grateful for a word, even, from some lesser light.

So from its Eastern formality the scene changed to Western ways. The crowd of well-dressed women became interspersed with red coats and political uniforms, a buzz of voices and laughter replaced the silence broken only by the shrillings and tw.a.n.glings.

The change was a peculiarly welcome one to Mrs. Chris Davenant, who, having, of course, been seated in strict accordance with her husband's rank, right at the back among the commercial set, had been growing sulky over her chance of getting into better society. She had not, for the last two days, snubbed Mr. Lucanaster persistently, in order that she and half a dozen tailors summoned hastily should have time to turn out a gown worthy of Paris, simply for the purpose of having _him_ compliment her on the result. She flew at higher game, and the movement of the crowd brought her the quarry.

'Married a native, did she?' commented a big man in political uniform with a row of medals, who was in from an out-station for the show, and had asked who the wearer of the flame-coloured satin was; flame-colour with ruby sparklings on the curves of hip and bosom out of which the fair white shoulders rose barely. 'Well! I, personally, don't find the husband in it, if the wife's pretty! Introduce me, will you, or get some one else to do it who knows her, if you don't.'

The man to whom he spoke looked round helplessly, and, his eye falling on Jack Raymond, he appealed to him. People in Nushapore had a trick of applying to the secretary of the club for odd jobs.

'Ask Lucanaster,' said Jack Raymond grimly, 'he knows her awfully well, and I don't.'

And thereinafter he watched this seething of the kid in its mother's milk with an almost fiendish amus.e.m.e.nt. It relieved him, for one thing, of the necessity for speaking to Mrs. Chris himself. But as he pa.s.sed the group which was every instant growing larger round the flame-coloured satin, he said a word to Chris who was standing listlessly on the outside of it.

'Seeing a lot of old friends, I expect.'

Chris Davenant's flush made him curse the careless remark, and at the same moment some one came hurriedly up behind him and laid a hand on his arm. It was a tall old man with a dash and a swing about him still; gorgeous still, though his brocades were worn and old, and with great ropes of pearls wound round him, and a straight bar of grey moustache on his keen brown face, matching the grey heron's plume in his low turban. Briefly, a Rajpoot n.o.bleman of the old style.

'_Ai!_ counsellor of the old,' he said, affectionate confidence struggling with vexation in his face, 'give me some of thy wisdom once more.'

'Hullo, Rana-_sahib_! what's up? something gone wrong with the fireworks?' asked Jack Raymond, turning at once. His tone was friendliness itself. And no wonder. Many a time had he, hard rider as he was, wondered at the old Thakoor of Dhurmkote's dash and pluck after boar. Many a time had they sate up in _machans_ after tiger together, and many a time had Jack--wiser for the reckless, proud old sinner than he was for himself--urged him to retrench, to keep from the usurers. In vain. The old man, head of his clan, would only say, 'Not so, _sahib_.

If the son had lived, perhaps. But the tiger took advantage of his youth. So let me live and die as my fathers lived and died.' And then he would launch out into further extravagance, as fine a specimen of the native gentleman before we meddled with the mould, as could be found in the length and breadth of the land.

'Wrong with my fireworks?' he echoed indignantly. 'There is nothing wrong with them, though the others stinted me, from the beginning, out of jealousy! Yet I had fooled them. But now, because folk laughed at G.o.d knows what, they want them earlier. It is jealousy again. It is to ruin my reputation as _connoisseur_. I, who have spent lacs on fireworks. I, who to prove what I could do with the miserable pittance a.s.signed to me, have paid Meena Buksh, firework-maker, five thousand rupees extra--I had but two allowed me, _Huzoor_--out of mine own pocket, or rather out of Salig Ram the usurer's, since I reft it from him with threats--he owns land, see you, as well as money----'

Here the old man, who had been carried away thus far by his grievance, became aware that Jack Raymond's companion was not, as he had deemed, some young Englishman who would either not care to listen or would not understand if he did; and in any case would not make mischief out of the confidence. For Chris Davenant, hemmed in a corner beyond escape, had been unable to repress a smile at the old chieftain's method of proving his good management and economy.

'Let me introduce my friend, Mr. Krishn Davenund, Rana-_sahib_,' said Jack Raymond hastily, noticing the old man's haughty stare. 'I think you knew his father, _Pandit_ Sri Pershad, judge of the Small Cause Court.'

Considering that the magistrate in question, being more or less in feudal relations with the Thakoors of Dhurmkote, had strained many a point in favour of their extravagance, the acquaintance was indisputable; yet the Rana-_sahib's salaam_ was of the curtest compatible with courtesy to the introducer, and he drew Jack Raymond aside to continue in a lower voice--

'They want me to be ready in ten minutes, and that means ruin; for some fool set fire to a bit of my best set piece, and 'twill take twenty to repair.'

'But why not begin with something else?' suggested his hearer.

The Thakoor's face was a study in triumph and disappointment. 'Because it is a welcome to the Lat-_sahib_, and a welcome must come first. And it is new also--a welcome in roman candles and sulphur stars; my reputation is in it.'

'Then why not show it as it is, and explain the accident?'

The Thakoor looked uncertain. 'That might be. How would it look, think you, _sahib_, "G.o.d," then a blank--for that is where the damage comes in--"our new Lieutenant-Governor"? Would it be understanded, think you?

Would it look well--in Roman candles and sulphur stars?'

'G.o.d blank--that is where the damage lies,' repeated Jack Raymond thoughtfully, and then he laughed. He had to recover himself, however, hastily at the old man's bewildered face, and say gravely, 'I don't think it _would_ look very well, Rana-_sahib_, especially in Roman candles and sulphur stars.' Here another laugh obtruded itself, and he added as a cover to it, 'But I can tell you what I _can_ do for you--refreshments. I know _they_ are ready. I'll go off now and get the "roastbeef" sounded.'

The old chieftain stood looking after him as he went off enthusiastically.

'May the G.o.ds keep him! that is a man,' he said aloud to himself. 'If all the _sahibs_ were as he, a friend----'