“‘No more sweet mur——’
“‘Enough, Ram Lal,’ interrupted the prince. ‘I have heard that a needle thrust into the eye of a bullfinch will make it sing, but I did not know that misery could transform a merchant to a bard.
“‘Disjoint your phrases a degree. You say your daughter greets you not?’
“‘Yes, O prince,’ replied Ram Lal, abashed at this cynical embargo upon the melancholy luxury of his rhythms; ‘yes, and it is of her I would speak.’
“‘Speak,’ urged his august hearer.
“After a moment’s reflection, in the manner of the unwelcome envoy who has reached the acute juncture of his recital and is about to disembarrass himself of a dangerous climax, the merchant continued in sordid Hindustani:
“‘As I have said, O prince, my daughter has been taken from me, and I come to you in my extremity.’
“‘And why to me, Ram Lal?’ demanded the prince, with a gleam in his glance which was directly responsible for the pacific presentation which followed.
“‘Because,’ replied the merchant with discerning irreverence, ‘if it so please your highness, your providence is practical, and the ways of Vishnu are tedious.’
“‘Ah!’ exclaimed the prince appreciatively; ‘that was not so bad for a merchant; but to the point.’