'Poor old chap,' said Dan aside, 'I suppose he is thinking of the accident; but by the powers, Keene, it is a situation. Seated here on a pinnacle--a crazy irresponsible creator----'
'Ask him if he made the pot, please,' interrupted George brutally. 'If I could get a pair, I'd send them to the mater. Those things are always in pairs, you know.'
'Pairs! you intolerable Philistine! A potter's vessel trying to be matched before it's broken in pieces. Think of the tragedy--the humour of it.'
'Will you ask, or shall I?'
Fitzgerald grinned maliciously. 'You. I like to hear you stuttering.'
George smiled, rose, and taking the blue pot from the attendant's tray laid it on the potter's wheel.
'Did you make that?' he asked, in English. His meaning was palpable.
'No, Huzoor.'
'If you did not, who did?' he continued, his triumph mixed with anxiety for the future; but the old man's thoughts did duty for an answer.
'Without doubt my fathers made it; since it is an Ayôdhya pot.'