A few nights ago this culminated in what Keats would have called a "purple
riot." The sweeper and his friends were holding a meeting for the purpose
of conversation and the consumption of apple brandy.
Having fruitlessly sent the shikari to try and stop the insufferable noise,
I was fain to sally forth myself to investigate matters.
Then to a happy and light-hearted party seated chattering round a blazing
fire there came suddenly the unwelcome apparition of an exceedingly irate
sahib, in evening dress and pumps, brandishing a khudstick.
A wild scurry, in which the bonfire was scattered, a few remarks in
forcible English, a whack which just missed the hindmost reveller, and the
place became a deserted village.
Next morning Sabz Ali came to me in a towering rage to report that the
sweeper--that unclean outcast--had dared to say most opprobrious things to
him, being inspired thereto by the devil and apple brandy. Nothing less
than the immediate execution of the culprit by hanging, drawing, and
quartering would satisfy the outraged feelings of our henchman.
I promised a yet severer punishment. I said I would "cut" the wretched
minion's pay that month to the amount of a rupee. Vengeance was satisfied,
and the victim reduced to tears.
It is good to hear Jane--who for many years has been accustomed to having
her own way in all household matters--ordering breakfast.
"Well, Sabz Ali--what shall we have for breakfast to-morrow?"
"Jessa mem-sahib arder!"--with a friendly grin.
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