A peremptory call
like this boded no good, but by way of getting a further puff to show
which way the wind blew, Shah Sowar assumed a haughty air. "Peace be
unto you," he said; "there is no hurry. I will come when I am
sufficiently rested, and have received permission from my own master."
"Be advised by me, who wish you no harm, to come at once, as the matter
is of importance," replied the messenger. "Oh, very well," grumbled Shah
Sowar, feeling that trouble was in the air; "I will come."
When he arrived at the camp of the White Beard he was immediately
ushered into his tent, and there found the old warrior seated
cross-legged on a rich carpet, and gravely stroking his beard. "Look
here, Shah Sowar," said he with soldierly directness, "it is no good
lying to me. That is a sahib you have with you. I have been to Bushire,
and I know an Englishman when I see him."
Shah Sowar was prepared for this, but, by way of gaining time, he
answered: "Your Excellency's cleverness is extraordinary; to lie to your
Highness would be the work only of a fool. Perchance my master may be a
sahib, but there are many nations of sahibs, and why should this one be
English?" "Peace, prattler!" sternly replied the old autocrat; "there is
only one nation of real sahibs, and they are English."
Shah Sowar, driven into a corner, stroked his beard for some time under
the rebuke, and then said: "I perceive there is no good trying to
deceive so great a diviner as you.
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