Before beginning to wash and change, Stanley had given Meinik the clothes he had carried down with him; and when he went out to take a short look round before tiffin--for which the servants were already laying the cloth--he found the man, now looking like a respectable Burman, standing near the door. He walked slowly past him, but the man did not move--not recognizing him, in the slightest degree, in his present attire.
Then Stanley turned and faced him.
"So you don't know me, Meinik."
The Burman gave a start of surprise.
"Certainly I did not know you, my lord," he said. "Who could have known you? Before you were a poor Burmese peasant, now you are an English lord."
"Not a lord at all, Meinik. I am simply an English officer, and dressed very much the same as I was when your people knocked me on the head, at Ramoo."
"I know your voice," Meinik said; "but even now that I know it is you, I hardly recognize your face. Of course, the tattoo marks made a great difference, but that is not all."
"I think it is the hair that has made most difference, Meinik. You see, it was all pulled off the brow and neck, before; and it will be some time before it will grow naturally again. I had great trouble to get it to lie down, even when it was wet; and it will certainly have a tendency to stick up, for a long time.
"The dress has made a good deal of alteration in you, too."
"They are very good clothes," Meinik said. "I have never had such good ones on before. I have had money enough to buy them; but people would have asked where I got it from, and it never does to make a show of being better off than one's neighbour. A man is sure to be fleeced, if he does.