“I haven’t it,” said the jeweler. “Besides—er—ah—you would have to tell me your—that is—er—you would have to establish first by what right you make such a demand. You understand me?”
“I have made no demand,” the old man answered, smiling. His voice was sweetly reasonable; his bright old eyes twinkled. “You have asked what I want. I have told you.”
“Tell me who you are,” said Chutter Chand.
“My son, I am a Lama. I am one who strives to tread the Middle Way.”
“Where from?”
“From desire into peace!”
“I mean, what place do you come from?”
“From the same place that the piece of jade came from, my son. From the place to which he who desires merit will return it.”
“Is the jade yours?” asked Chutter Chand.
“Is the air mine? Are the stars mine?” the Lama answered, smiling as if the idea of possessing anything were a joke made by an inquiring child.