"Is that the most holy and reverend twice-born confidant of gods and treasurer of wisdom who presides over all the Brahmins of this temple to be an example to men and a blessing to the world?" asked Bamjee. "Humbly then I kiss feet. Humbly I ask blessing." Through the hole came the mumbled perfunctory formula. Then: "Who are you and what do you want?" "All-wise, I am Bamjee bearing bad news." "Because, for the sake of your pocket, you defiled this temple, you are doomed for a thousand lives to be a blind worm in the belly of a dog!" "I know it! I know it! I sinned and the sin is on my head. (_Dog of a Brahmin! Humble am I? You shall pay for it!_) But may I not commence to purge my sin? (_Purge your own, you old tyrant!_) This _babu_ has had sudden change of heart. Some god has probably observed what wrong this _babu_ did (_You old devil, I'd like to drown you in a tub of sewage!_) and stirred an impulse to do better and to make amends. Oh, Most Wise--_Muddle-head_--if this _babu_ has wrought evil, you yourself will do worse evil unless you give him opportunity to make compensation for his ill deeds! Am contrite! Am able to do valuable service. Am, above all, ab-so-lutely bent on telling truth and nothing but truth. Pity me and listen!" "You shall be heard." The shutter squealed back into place along its iron grooves and there was silence again so almost absolute that Bamjee knew he would go mad if it should last long. He could hear the noises in his head that are so quiet and so intimate that we are unconscious of them until real silence stimulates hearing and imagination invents mysterious reasons for them. Silence is no sedative. It arouses self-analysis. But in Bamjee it also aroused a saving sense of humor. "Yes, am rogue undoubtedly. Am that sort of person. But it takes _all_ sorts of persons to make a universe, and I did not create myself--unfortunately. Had I done so this poor _babu_ would be billionaire--most estimable personage, with lickspittles by the dozen to say to him, 'Yes, _sahib_' and 'marvellous' and 'such high-mindedness'! Instead of which, even these rascally Brahmins dare to call me a low-minded nasty crook! No, this _babu_ did not build the universe. Not guilty! And by Krishna, who is a legend, and by Ingersoll and Bradlaugh, who lifted themselves by the seat of the pants in order to prove there are no such things as miracles, these noises in my head will give me religion unless I watch out! Ah!" Somebody was coming. The door bolt rattled. Bamjee was himself again, and by the time the door opened he looked like an idol made of hardened india-rubber, squatting with his back against the wall. "Such hospitality! Such courtesy!" he exclaimed. "You have a mat for yourself, I see. Bring two mats. This stone floor is not salubrious to sit on." The partly opened door slammed shut again.