"And the sahib also, I hope?"
"The sahib thinks he knows, but he is a stranger to the river and the old ways. He must learn them."
A week after this, Bannerman and I were encamped on the south side of the gorge through which the sacred river debouches on the plains, with Sambo, who was on leave, as our boatman. And curiously out of place he looked in the English-built wherry which my host had insisted on bringing up by rail. He had never, he said, been able to stand the discomforts of a Noah's Ark, and he did not intend to begin self-denial, even though he was in the birthplace of the most ascetic cult the world had ever known; if indeed the worshippers of Siva had right on their side in claiming Hurdwar as Hara-dwara--the gate of Siva. For his part he inclined to the Vaishnâva view. Hari-dwara, gate of Vishnu, was just as likely a derivation. It was only the change of a letter; and yet that made all the difference between believing in pleasure or penance. He talked away in his reckless fashion about this as we fished fruitlessly, the first evening; fruitlessly, for I was crippled with a slight sprain of the wrist, and Bannerman caught nothing. And Sambo sat gravely sculling, with a perfectly immovable face, until Bannerman, who was changing his fly for the fiftieth time at least, leant forward suddenly and laid his hand on the other's wrist.
"That's a fine cat's-eye," he said, looking at a ring on the supple brown finger. "How much will you take for it?"
"I do not sell," replied Sambo, still without a quiver of expression. The water dropped from the upheld oar like molten gold. I could hear it fall in the silence, as those two sat looking at each other. But my eyes were on those hands clasped upon each other; they were extraordinarily alike in contour and not far apart in colour.
"Ten rupees! twenty! forty!" he went on. "What! you won't? Here! let me see it closer. I don't believe it is worth more--even to me--unless I'm mistaken. Hand it over, man!"
Bannerman turned the ring over curiously, and a sudden interest came to his face.
"It isn't worth five, but I've taken a fancy to it. Fifty! a hundred! a thousand!"
"I do not sell," repeated Sambo indifferently.
"Not sell! then you're a fool! Here, catch!"