The shopkeeper regarded them gravely and sadly, as though he felt deeply the doubts they had cast upon his honesty. He produced one article after another, tempting them in vain to buy. At length, guessing that the boy had set his heart upon the bangle, he offered him the pretty toy for thirty rupees, assuring him that he had given twice that sum to the Kazilbash.
“I’ll give you fifteen,” said Ted, “and not an anna more.”
The Hindu shook his head.
“I am poor man,” said he, “else would I gladly beg the sahib to accept it as a present.”
“Very well,” Ted firmly rejoined. “Come along, Alec.”
They turned to go, but the Hindu hastily recalled them.
“Nay,” said he, “I had forgotten that the sahib had to suffer the loss of the first one. For twenty rupees will I sell it, or, in truth, give it away, rather than that the Heaven-born should be disappointed.”
“Fifteen,” was all Ted’s answer; and once more the bangle changed hands, and the ensign left the shop. On the way to cantonments they overtook Harry Tynan, the object of their mutual dislike, and were about to pass with a nod as devoid of cordiality as decency would permit, when Tynan spoke, or rather sneered: “Why, Russell, I thought you always took a girl to protect you whenever you went into the bazar!”
“Did you really now?” asked Ted banteringly. “Wasn’t it an effort?”
“What do you mean? Was what an effort?”