“If His Highness will accept the portrait I have painted of myself I shall be honoured, but, if not, will he kindly allow me to send it to my wife in London?”
Amîr’s Kindly Remark.
His Highness said:—
“I would rather see your face here for many years to come than have the best portrait that ever was painted.”
I was gratified by the kindness of the remark: but it occurred to me that His Highness had received information concerning my intention of leaving his service.
At this time the English miner returned from Jigdilik, where he had been superintending the Spinel Rubies mines. As there was no room in the Workshops I offered him quarters in my house. He lived in the wing that Mr. Collins occupied.
A day or two afterwards he bought a half-bred bulldog of a man in the bazaar, and he tied it up in my garden. Every evening he went off to the Workshops to play cards with the other men, and the dog lifted up his voice and howled continuously. Looking at the affair from my own personal standpoint, the dog was undoubtedly an abominable nuisance, but from the miner’s point of view, probably this was not so. I considered in my own mind whether it would purely be selfish if I told him to take his dog with him, or otherwise dispose of it: I felt sorely tempted to do so, but I refrained. I did casually remark that the dog mourned greatly when he was away; the hint did not have the desired effect, for the miner shouted cheerily, “Did he?” and he laughed a stentorian laugh. It was an experience to go through, when he and the Armenian shouted jokes at one another in my small winter room. However, he was my guest at the time; but I confess I looked upon it as a special mercy that he was fond of cards and the society of the other English workmen at the shops.
But the dog! I remember it. He began with a short yelp, which he prolonged into a whining howl. Then he began another howl, and ended up with two or three sharp yelps: there were many changes and variations all painfully distinct in the silence of the night. One evening it was almost too much for me, and I nearly gave way: I was about to send a note to the shops, thus:—
“Dear Miner,—What is the price of your dog? I want to buy it, so that I can, without evil motives being assigned to me, poison it. My nervous system is becoming slowly shattered. Don’t apologise.—Yours, very truly,——”
But then, from the miner’s point of view this would, doubtless, be a very selfish and heartless letter, and I decided not to send it.