India -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Short stories, English
I didn't know me own voice when I sang. An' oh! 'twas pitiful to see the
women. The darlin's were down on their faces. Whin I passed the last wan I
cud see her poor little fingers workin' one in another as if she wanted to
touch my feet. So I dhrew the tail av this pink overcoat over her head for
the greater honor, an' I slid into the dhark on the other side av the
temple, and fetched up in the arms av a big fat priest. All I wanted was
to get away clear. So I tak him by his greasy throat an' shut the speech
out av him, 'Out!' sez I. 'Which way, ye fat heathen?'--'Oh!' sez he.
'Man,' sez I. 'White man, soldier man, common soldier man. Where in the
name av confusion is the back door?' The women in the temple were still on
their faces, an' a young priest was holdin' out his arms above their
heads.
"'This way,' sez my fat friend, duckin' behind a big bull-god an' divin'
into a passage, Thin I remimbered that I must ha' made the miraculous
reputation av that temple for the next fifty years. 'Not so fast,' I sez,
an' I held out both my hands wid a wink. That ould thief smiled like a
father. I tuk him by the back av the neck in case he should be wishful to
put a knife into me unbeknownst, an' I ran him up an' down the passage
twice to collect his sensibilities! 'Be quiet,' sez he, in English. 'Now
you talk sense,' I sez. 'Fwhat'll you give me for the use av that most
iligant palanquin I have no time to take away?'--'Don't tell,' sez he, 'Is
ut like?' sez I, 'But ye might give me my railway fare. I'm far from my
home an' I've done you a service.' Bhoys, 'tis a good thing to be a
priest. The ould man niver throubled himself to dhraw from a bank. As I
will prove to you subsequint, he philandered all round the slack av his
clothes an' began dribblin' ten-rupee notes, old gold mohurs, and rupees
into my hand till I could hould no more."
"You lie!" said Ortheris. "You're mad or sunstrook. A native don't give
coin unless you cut it out o' 'im. 'Tain't nature."
"Then my lie an' my sunstroke is concealed under that lump av sod yonder,"
retorted Mulvaney, unruffled, nodding across the scrub. "An' there's a
dale more in nature than your squidgy little legs have iver taken you to,
Orth'ris, me son. Four hundred an' thirty-four rupees by my reckoning
_an'_ a big fat gold necklace that I took from him as a remimbrancer, was
our share in that business."
"An' 'e give it you for love?" said Ortheris.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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