“Yes, he tells me that, on such occasions, they always give presents.”
“Quite right—some sweetmeats, a few cakes, perhaps. But what of that?”
“No, no,” said his wife, “not sweetmeats at all; but silk for dresses.”
“Silk!” cried Meidema, “the fellow must have gone mad! I never have heard of any such presents; and yet I have been a good while in India.”
“He has even left some samples here with us,” continued Mrs. Meidema, “very fine silk, I assure you, most splendid quality. But there was one slight condition attached to his gift.”
“Indeed! a condition! what might that be?”
“That I should intercede with you for Lim Ho.”
“For Lim Ho—oh, oh! and what did you say to that?”
“I told him I would have nothing to do with it.”
“Where are these samples?” cried Meidema. “Hand them to me, I will fling them into the fire.”