He acknowledged the receipt of my letter of such a date, in which I asked—Had I the Royal permission to visit—and so on. He was deeply grieved on account of the illness of the Sirdar, for whom he had the greatest affection and respect, but there were weighty matters to consider. I, though an Englishman, was his servant. If, through an unforeseen calamity God should strike the Sirdar, while under my medical care, with an illness more severe than the present one, or, God forbid, even with death, then the honourable Government of England might consider in their wisdom that I, his servant, instigated by evil men, had worked harm upon the Sirdar.
The gist of it was, that whatever His Highness’s reason might be, he did not wish me to attend the Agent. I therefore sent my apologies. At the next Durbar His Highness appeared pleased that I had asked his permission before visiting the Agent, and he entered more fully, though on the same lines, into his reasons for refusing permission.
That afternoon a Brigadier named Hadji Gul Khan, with his Staff, called upon me at my house. They all came in, about a dozen of them, and the Brigadier, in a hearty sort of way, shook hands and asked how I was. I was surprised, as he was quite a stranger to me, though it is possible I was not so to him. He was a relative of the Amîr’s, a Barukzai Durani: he had called to ask if I would attend to one of his soldiers who had a disease of the leg. I said, “With pleasure, which is he?”
“This is the man.”
I examined him, and found he had a fatty tumour on the outer side of the right thigh. I said—
“It will be necessary to remove this swelling with the knife. It consists of a mass of fat.”
“Bisyar khôb,” said the Brigadier; “very good; remove it.”
“Kai?” said I. “When?”
“Hala,” said he. “Now.”