"I have seen him."
"Is he a good man?"
"I believe him to be so."
"Then why do his people try to kill him?"
"Some of them are Socialists."
"Socialists!" repeated the Khan, slowly. "What is that?"
I then explained with some difficulty the meaning of the word.
"Humph!" was the rejoinder. Then, with a whisk of the yellow bandanna:
"I am glad I have none in Kelát!"
A mark of great favour was then shown me, the Khan presenting me with his photograph, with the request that I would show it to "Parliament" when I got home. I think he was under the impression that the latter is a human being. An incident that occurred but two years since is typical of the intelligence of the ruler of Kelát and his court. It was at Quetta, on the occasion of the presentation of Mir Khudadad to the Viceroy of India. Previous to a grand déjeûner given in his honour, the Khan and his suite were shown into a dressing-room for the purpose of washing their hands. On entering to announce that luncheon was ready, the aide-de-camp found that the distinguished guests had already commenced operations, and were greedily devouring the cakes of Pears' soap that had been placed there for a somewhat different purpose. That none of the party felt any after ill effects speaks well for the purity of the wares of the mammoth advertiser—or the Baluch digestion!
The Khan shook my hand cordially at parting, and again begged me not to forget his warnings anent the Ameer of Afghanistán, with whom he is apparently not on the best of terms. I found, with some relief, that my Beïla men had made friends with the Afghans, and, surrounded by an admiring crowd, were hobnobbing over a hissing samovar. One of the Afghans handed me a glass of tea, which, not to offend him, I drank and found delicious. It had come from China viâ Siberia, Samarcand, and Cábul. "Russki!" said the man with a grin, as I handed back the cup.