I looked at the old man; though he himself was well on in years, the impossibility of his words made me pass over major points to cavil at minor ones.
"My tombstone!" I echoed. "I suppose you mean this King's cook was a forbear of yours. You come of a servant family, I expect, ah! Prince of Personalities."
I gave him the full title of the highest domestic office with intent. It had a marvellous effect. His bowed back straightened itself; he seemed to sit resplendent in gold-laced coat and badge-wound turban. "The Huzoor speaks truth," he said, with perfectly blatant dignity. "Since the beginning of time my people have served Kings--and Sahibs."
The last was a palpable concession to the alien, and I could not help smiling. But the old man, despite his toothless, wrinkled, wagging head, was no subject for smiles. He sate there transfigured, his face shiny, an apotheosis of what folk nowadays call servility. You felt it in the warm scented sunshine; an atmosphere of dutiful devotion that brought a kindly interest to my heart.
"It hasn't been taken as a curry-stone," I said gravely: "it is quite safe. I saw it yesterday in the Wonder House." And then I remembered that my Crowned Head had paused over it to look and smile. "Yes! Prince of Personalities," I went on, "there it is. A marble slab with an inscription." So I went on to tell him what had occurred.
He sate and listened, gravely, reverently, and when I had finished he rose--I knew he would--and salaamed down to the ground.
"This poor Preparer-of-Plates is proud still to serve Majesty. May the Earth cherish the Wise King long! May Heaven nestle him when the time comes for soul to separate from body."
As I looked into the blazing sunshine at the old, naked, bald-headed figure, I swear it seemed to me clothed upon with all the liveries of all those centuries of service.
"Lo!" he went on, "let the tombstone remain in the Wonder House where it hath been honoured by the eye-glances of Kings. And as for the Noble Huzoor who hath relieved this poor slave of the Court's mind concerning curry-stones----" he paused, took up the remaining posy from his basket and held it out to me between deferential palms. "It is all I have, Huzoor, but it is sweet," he said simply, "and I have asked so many before, and none could tell me."
In sudden impulse I took it. "I'll tell you what I'll do, Prince of Personalities!" I said, half in jest, "I'll stop at the Wonder House on my way home and put it on the tombstone. Will that satisfy you?"