“So thou art back, badmash! I wonder thou hast come here!” cried Zālim, with ill-simulated scorn.
“How daredst thou sell my house?” rejoined the other.
“I sold it to pay for thy children’s food.”
“Speak not of the children you worked as slaves, and beat, and turned out at night to perish. Restore the money and the house, O villain!”
Hearing loud and angry voices, the inevitable crowd collected. There was Chūnnee, looking quite well-to-do, and actually speaking in a commanding tone to his once all-powerful brother!
“Behold, he hath sold my poor hovel, and hath kept the money,” explained Chūnnee, turning to the eager audience. “He hath beaten and starved my children, and hath thrust them out to die. Why do ye suffer such a sinner among you?”
The crowd began to clamour and howl, and Zālim Sing withdrew and barred his door; but the angry neighbours beat upon it till it shook on its rusty hinges, and Zālim Sing was forced to shout, “Go! thou shalt have thy house, O badmash.” And for the first time in all his life, Chūnnee was beholden to the force of public opinion.
CHAPTER VI.
Old Turroo had heard of Chūnnee’s arrival. Everything is known in a short time in a small community, save such matters as robbery and gambling, practised under the cover of darkness.
He sent for his grand-nephew—much to that grand-nephew’s surprise—and beckoning him in with a long, claw-like finger, commanded him to close the door, and be seated on a charpoy. He then pushed his huka towards him, and coughed, and said—