"Thank you, Tods,"
said the Legal Member.
Tods was the idol of some eighty jhampanis, and half as many saises.
He saluted them all as "O Brother." It never entered his head that any living
human being could disobey his orders; and he was the buffer between the
servants and his Mamma's wrath. The working of that household turned on Tods,
who was adored by every one from the dhoby to the dog-boy. Even Futteh Khan,
the villainous loafer khit from Mussoorie, shirked risking Tods' displeasure
for fear his co-mates should look down on him.
So Tods had honor in the land from Boileaugunge to Chota Simla, and ruled
justly according to his lights. Of course, he spoke Urdu, but he had also
mastered many queer side-speeches like the chotee bolee of the women, and held
grave converse with shopkeepers and Hill-coolies alike. He was precocious for
his age, and his mixing with natives had taught him some of the more bitter
truths of life; the meanness and the sordidness of it. He used, over his bread
and milk, to deliver solemn and serious aphorisms, translated from the
vernacular into the English, that made his Mamma jump and vow that Tods MUST
go home next hot weather.
Just when Tods was in the bloom of his power, the Supreme Legislature were
hacking out a Bill, for the Sub-Montane Tracts, a revision of the then Act,
smaller than the Punjab Land Bill, but affecting a few hundred thousand people
none the less.
Pages:
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733