Tara pondered.
A JAT CAMEL SOWAR.
"For the sake of appearance, Sahib," he said, "to give them an air."
"Is there no other reason?"
Tara consulted the tarpaulin overhead, the mud walls, the mud table of the mess, where "La Vie Parisienne" and a Christmas annual gave the only bit of relief to this dun-coloured habitation. Then he smiled and delivered himself slowly, "There is a saying among my people, Sahib, that he who wears gold in his teeth must always speak what is true. Gold in the teeth stops the passage of lies."
"But you have no gold in your teeth?"
"No, Sahib."
"Is that why you tell the tall story about all those Germans you killed at Festubert?"
Tara smiled at this thrust.