'Trouble!' echoed a passer-by, shaking his head, 'there will be no saving of that in Nushapore. Jân-Ali-shân hath returned and brought the plague, so folk say.' The liquor seller turned in quick interest to the sergeant of police. 'Dost know if he hath returned?' he asked; for the loafer was a customer who owed money, and must be got hold of while money was in his pockets. For answer the policeman chucked away his cigar end, stumbled off the dais of the shop, and stood to attention, as a figure rounded the angle of the next crossway street, followed by a crowd of ragged half-naked urchins. It was Jân-Ali-shân himself, washed, shaved, spruce, in a second-hand suit of _khaki_ uniform and a white helmet which he had redeemed from a pawnshop on the credit of his new appointment as foreman of works. Jân-Ali-shân, who, from sheer habit, had, on finding himself in the city with money in his pocket, gone straight for his old haunt. From the new resolutions, however, which with him always began with new work, he called for a 'gingerade plain' in a voice of authority, which made a little circle gather round him admiringly, as after humming a stave of 'Drink to me only with thine eyes,' while he was opening the bottle, he proceeded to pour its fizzing contents down his throat. The interest of the crowd seemed to amuse him, he sate down on the plinth and drew out a handful of _pice_ in lordly fashion. 'Two anna, over an' above,' he said, holding up the coins, 'and I don't want no change. So which of you noble earls,' here he turned to his following of lads, 'is goin' to fight for the balance? You understand? _Lurro abhi, jut put_, an' be _burra burra pailwân_ for two pice a 'ed (fight now immediately and be great heroes).' The vile admixture of tongues seemed quite comprehensible to those acquainted with Jân-Ali-shân's methods, for two urchins stepped forward at once, and the rest joined with the other loungers to form a ring. John Ellison, loafer, leant back against the wall at his ease. 'Now then, _nap_,'[6] he began, 'back to back fair and square. None o' yer _nigger blarney_,[7] you young devil! Fight _seeda_,[8] or it ain't worth fightin' at all. And I won't 'ave no buttin' in the stummick. You're _pailwâns m'henda nahin_ (heroes, not fighting rams). _Sumjha?_' The boys professed to understand, and, having divested themselves of their last rag, stood like slim bronze statues in the sunlight. 'Are you ready?' asked Jân-Ali-shân with superb gravity. 'Then _chul_ (go), an' may the Lord 'ave mercy on your souls.' They were locked in each other's grip in a second in true Western fashion. '_Shab-bash!_' said the holder of the stakes with an approving nod 'That's wrestlin'. None o' yer slappin's an' buttin's and boo-in's. _Shab-bash!_ boys. _Shab-bash!_'