"
Pagett spoke with some warmth, and he had scarcely ceased when
a well appointed dog-cart turned into the compound gates, and
Orde rose saying:
"Here is Edwards, the Master of the Lodge I neglect so diligently,
come to talk about accounts, I suppose."
As the vehicle drove up under the porch Pagett also rose, saying
with the trained effusion born of much practice:
"But this is also my friend, my old and valued friend Edwards. I'm
delighted to see you. I knew you were in India, but not exactly
where."
"Then it isn't accounts, Mr. Edwards," said Orde, cheerily.
"Why, no, sir; I heard Mr. Pagett was coming, and as our works
were closed for the New Year I thought I would drive over and see
him."
"A very happy thought. Mr. Edwards, you may not know, Orde,
was a leading member of our Radical Club at Switebton when I
was beginning political life, and I owe much to his exertions.
There's no pleasure like meeting an old friend, except, perhaps,
making a new one. I suppose, Mr. Edwards, you stick to the good
old cause?"
"Well, you see, sir, things are different out here. There's precious
little one can find to say against the Government, which was the
main of our talk at home, and them that do say things are not the
sort o' people a man who respects himself would like to be mixed
up with. There are no politics, in a manner of speaking, in India.
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