Mowbray’s easy diction and the distinction of his manner astounded the hearer quite as much as did Roger’s proportions. The Persian, a born gentleman, well knew he was talking to his equal of another clime.
“You and your wares could not have arrived at better season,” he said gravely; “but I never yet met merchant so unlike a merchant as you and your gigantic companion.”
Walter’s quick intuition told him that here was one who might be a good friend. It was important to stand well with him and leave room for no dubiety. So, in a few well-chosen sentences, he told how it came about that he and Roger brought a pack-train to Agra. The mere mention of Edwards’s name cleared up the mystery so far as his hearer was concerned.
“Edwards!” he cried, “a fat man, who struts as he walks and coughs loudly to command respect?”
Mowbray admitted that the description fitted his partner sufficiently well.
“You know he has been here himself in years past?” went on the Persian.
“Yes. The knowledge he gained then led to the proper selection of our merchandise.”
“Did he not tell you what befell him?”
“Little of any consequence.”
“He carried himself so ill that he bred a low repute of your nation. He suffered blows from porters, and was thrust out of many places head and shoulders by base peons without seeking satisfaction. Yet he showed some judgment in choosing you two as his agents. Name him to none. Strive to forget him until you rate him for sending you hither without warning.”