“Ah, I see,” said I, “and the little, your friend, Dîn Mahomed, he would like baksheesh?”
“Please you kind,” said the Armenian with an engaging smile.
“How much?” I asked.
“Sir, your wish. One twenty rupees,” he said, carelessly.
“Isn’t it rather dear at the price?” I said.
“Oh, sir! no. Other gentlemen, and rich man Supersala and Officer, give twenty or forty gold tilla and three or four horses.”
“To a servant! For just bringing news!”
“The servant, he is not keep it. He bring to his master, Amîr Sahib, and Highness make glad upon that. Some he give to servant, and some he give to other servant. And Officer and Supersala make glad that Highness not send it back.”
“Well, oughtn’t I to give more than twenty rupees?”