They are of great antiquity, a legacy from the past, the
golden, glorious Aryan past of Max Muller, Birdwood and the rest
of your spindrift philosophers."
An orderly brought a card to Orde who took it with a movement of
irritation at the interruption, and banded it to Pagett; a large card
with a ruled border in red ink, and in the centre in schoolboy
copper plate, Mr. Dma Nath. "Give salaam," said the civilian, and
there entered in haste a slender youth, clad in a closely fitting coat
of grey homespun, tight trousers, patent-leather shoes, and a small
black velvet cap. His thin cheek twitched, and his eyes wandered
restlessly, for the young man was evidently nervous and
uncomfortable, though striving to assume a free and easy air.
"Your honor may perhaps remember me," he said in Englisb, and
Orde scanned him keenly.
"I know your face somehow. You belonged to the Shershah
district I think, when I was in charge there?"
"Yes, Sir, my father is writer at Shershah, and your honor gave me
a prize when I was first in the Middle School examination five
years ago. Since then I have prosecuted my studies, and I am now
second year's student in the Mission College."
"Of course: you are Kedar Nath's son
-the boy who said he liked geography better than play or sugar
cakes, and I didn't believe you. How is your father getting on?"
"He is well, and he sends his salaam, but his circumstances are
depressed, and be also is down on his luck.
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