Do you know what a Bengali Baboo or a Pathan is really like? The one is
three times as clever as your missionary; the other is a manly fanatic
and won't have him at any price. You're a maritime nation, and you've
got ten thousand good British seamen out of work. Why not assist
_them_?"
So this quaint and shockingly heterodox millionaire would rave on, for
he was a most peppery old person. One dark and terrible legend is
current concerning him, but I hardly dare repeat it. An affable
gentleman from a foreign mission called on him one day, and obtained
admission (I am bound to add without any subterfuge). Bob heard the
visitor's story, and knitted his beetling bushy brows. He said: "Well,
sir, you've spoken very fairly. Now just answer me one or two questions.
How much money have you per year?"
"Half a million."
"Good. Does any one supervise your missionaries?"
"We have faith in their integrity, and we credit them with industry."
"You trust them five hundred miles up country?"
"Certainly, sir."
"How many missionaries' wives died in the last ten years?"
"I think probably about eighty."
"Eighty sweet English girls condemned to death. Good." The grizzled old
fellow rose in dignified fashion, and said:
"You will perhaps lunch alone, and I shall be pleased if you will be
good enough to make this your final visit."
Then the story goes on to say that Mr. Cassall placed a kennel on the
lawn with a very large and truculent brindled bulldog as tenant; over
the kennel he coiled a garden hose, and above the bulldog's portal
appeared the words, "For Foreign Missions.
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