It was at the Lahore gate of this Delhi palace that on this late September day a tawdry palanquin, followed by a few tawdry retainers, paused before a cavernous arch, ending the quaint, lofty vaulted tunnel which led inward for some fifty yards or more to another barrier. Here an old man in spectacles sat writing hurriedly.
"Quick, fool, quick! Read, and let me sign," called the huge unwieldy figure in the palanquin, as the bearers, panting under their gross burden, shifted shoulders. Mahboob Ali, Chief Eunuch and Prime Minister, groaned under the jolt; it was a foretaste of many to be endured ere he reached the Resident's house, miles away on the northern edge of the river. Yet he had to endure them, for important negotiations were on foot between the Survival and Civilization. The heir-apparent to those few acres where the sun stood still had died, had been poisoned some said; and another had to be recognized. There was no lack of claimants; there never was a lack of claimants to anything within those walls, where everyone strove to have the first and last word with the Civilization which supported the Survival. And here was he, Mahboob, Prime Minister, being delayed by a miserable scrivener.
"Read, pig! read," he reiterated, laying his puffy hand on his jeweled sword-hilt; for he was still within the gate, therefore a despot. A few yards further he would be a dropsical old man; no more.
"Your slave reads!" faltered the editor of the Court Journal. "Mussamât Hâfzan's record of the women's apartments being late to-day, hath delayed----"
"'Twas in time enough, uncle, if thou wouldst make fewer flourishes," retorted a woman's voice; it was nothing but a voice by reason of the voluminous Pathan veil covering the small speaker.
"Curse thee for a misbegotten hound!" bawled Mahboob. "Am I to lose the entrance fee I paid Gâmu, the Huzoor's orderly, for first interview--when money is so scarce too! Read as it stands, idiot--'tis but an idle tale at best."
The last was an aside to himself as he lay back in his cushions; for, idle though the tale was undoubtedly, it suited him to be its Prime Minister. The editor laid down his pen hurriedly, and the polished Persian polysyllables began to trip over one another, while their murmurous echo--as if eager to escape the familiar monotony--sped from arch to arch of the long tunnel, which was lit about the middle by side arches on the guards' quarters, and through which the sunlight streamed in a broad band of gold across the red stone causeway.
The attributes of the Almighty having come to an end the reader began on those of Bahâdur Shâh, Father of Victory, Light of Religion, Polestar and Defender of the Faith----
"Faster, fool, faster," came the fat voice.
The spectacled old man swallowed his breath, as it were, and went on at full gallop through the uprisal and bathing of Majesty, through feelings of pulses and reception of visitors, then slowed down a bit over the recital of dinner; for he was a gourmet, and his tongue loved the very sound of dainty dishes.