"No, Sahib; no khidmutgar waits on more than one gentleman," replied Louis's man, with a cheerful smile, displaying a wealth of white teeth which would have been creditable to an Alabama negro.
"That's what's the matter, is it?" added Scott. "I have learned that no Hindu will do more than one kind of work, take care of more than one person; and no groom will take care of more than one horse. If you have six horses, you must have six hostlers. That is what Sir Modava told me."
"Custom is law here, and we must follow the fashions," replied Louis. "What is your name, my boy?" he continued, turning to his servant.
"Sayad, sahib," answered he.
Scott's was Moro, Morris's was Mobarak, and Felix's was Balaya; but the last two were speedily abbreviated into "Mobby" and "Bally," to which the young Hindus offered no objection. They were all under twenty years of age, and spoke English passably well.
"Here, Sayad! black my shoes," said Louis, determined to make use of his servant.
"I don't clean the shoes," replied the fellow, shaking his head. "I call the porter;" and he did so.
"That is just what Sir Modava told me," added Scott.
But Sayad had opened his master's valise, placed his toilet articles on the bureau, and brushed his coat, which he had taken off. He arranged everything with good taste, and smiled expansively every time Louis looked at him. The shoes of all four were polished in time; and they were ready to begin their explorations of the city, though it was rather late in the day.
"What time is dinner, Moro?" asked Scott.