"Methinks it is too late for any more story-telling," he protested diffidently, with gesture and glance toward the east in token that he spoke truly.
"Nay, nay," cried the Rajput, "this night will not be complete without the full measure of our entertainment. Come, come, friend; the sun is yet an hour below the horizon."
Murmurs of approval showed that the general wish had been interpreted.
"Be it so, then," assented the magistrate. "I have heard so many stories this night that it would indeed be churlish on my part to refuse to give you one of mine. Well, listen.
"Know, my friends, that I am a district judge in Delhi, presiding over that quarter known as the Bara Bazaar, where the merchants most do congregate. One day some few years ago it befell that I was seated alone in the hall where I hold my court. It was the afternoon hour, all the suits of the day had been disposed of, punishment had been meted out to those who deserved it, justice had been done to rich and poor alike, in accordance with the orders of our most righteous master Akbar, to whom be all honour and glory.
"I had taken from my garments my silver betel-nut box, and was leisurely spreading on a leaf the smear of lime preparatory to enjoying my pan supari, musing the while on the strange little ironies of life that came to my knowledge each day in the discharge of my magisterial functions. All at once a shadow from the open doorway fell across the room. Raising my eyes, I beheld the tall figure of a man. On meeting my look he bowed his body, and with both hands outstretched, courteously salaamed me.
"'Protector of the poor, listen to my story,' he said.
"In silence, while I adjusted the fragments of betel-nut on the limed leaf and rolled up the morsel, I motioned him to a place on the edge of the carpet whereon I myself sat. For my first glance had shown me that the stranger was a man of consequence, his garments being rich and his look that of one accustomed to the exercise of authority.
"He took his seat, and arranged his flowing and finely embroidered robes around him. I proffered him the pan supari I had prepared, but with a wave of the hand he declined this courtesy. So I placed the morsel in my own mouth, fell to its meditative mastication, and awaited the beginning of his tale.