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"I am going," said Grish Chunder. He drew me into the lobby as he departed. "That is your man," he said, quickly. "I tell you he will never speak all you wish. That is rot-bosh. But he would be most good to make to see things. Suppose now we pretend that it was only play" I had never seen Grish Chunder so excited "and pour the ink-pool into his hand. Eh, what do you think?
"Now, about that galley-story," I said, still more cheerfully, in a pause in the rush of the speech. Charlie looked up as though he had been hit. "The galley what galley? Good heavens, don't joke, man! This is serious! You don't know how serious it is!" Grish Chunder was right, Charlie had tasted the love of woman that kills remembrance, and the finest story in the world would never be written.
Grish Chunder looked at him keenly for a minute. "I beg your pardon," Charlie said, uneasily; "I didn't know you had any one with you." "I am going," said Grish Chunder, He drew me into the lobby as he departed. "That is your man," he said, quickly. "I tell you he will never speak all you wish. That is rot bosh. But he would be most good to make to see things.
I winced at the thought of my story being ruined by a housemaid. And yet nothing was more probable. Grish Chunder grinned. "Yes also pretty girls cousins of his house, and perhaps not of his house. One kiss that he gives back again and remembers will cure all this nonsense, or else " "Or else what? Remember he does not know that he knows." "I know that.
"I shall very much like it," said Grish Chunder, unguardedly, "Once a Hindu always a Hindu. But I like to know what the English think they know." "I'll tell you something that one Englishman knows. It's an old tale to you."
This left me unmoved, for I was concerned for the past, and no peering of hypnotized boys into mirrors and ink-pools would help me to that. But I recognized Grish Chunder's point of view and sympathized with it. "What a big black brute that was!" said Charlie, when I returned to him. "Well, look here, I've just done a poem; did it instead of playing dominoes after lunch. May I read it?"
In either case he would begin to lie, through fear or vanity. He was safest in my own hands. "They are very funny fools, your English," said a voice at my elbow, and turning round I recognized a casual acquaintance, a young Bengali law student, called Grish Chunder, whose father had sent him to England to become civilized.
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