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Updated: June 5, 2025
Seen in tell-tale daylight, and without his disfiguring glasses, the pongye looked years younger; hitherto Shafto's impression had been that his strange acquaintance was a man of fifty. Five-and-thirty would be nearer the mark.
"Oh, that I can believe," replied Shafto; "your pals in the gharry could tell you something about bad spirits." "Wait now and I'll explain," said the pongye, with an intimate gesture of his great bony hand. "Sometimes I've a sort of ache to be mixing up with European soldiers even if it's only for a couple of hours."
"Easy enough!" replied Mung Baw, drawing himself up to his full height; "I'm the tallest pongye in Rangoon." "Yes, no doubt. Burmese are a bit undersized." "But fine, able-bodied fellows. I suppose you've seen the wrestlers?" "Yes. Now, before you go, can I get you a drink or a smoke?"
The cocaine lair was in a village, so deserted and tumble-down and haunted, that no one suspected it, or went near it. A pongye Kyoung, said to be infested by malignant nats and hundreds of snakes, was the head office. Rather a clever dodge." "Do you think this will put an end to the traffic?"
"I thought I'd give ye a call, sorr, before I went up country. I'm off to Mandalay to-morrow on a pilgrimage." "Oh, are you?" said Shafto, taking a seat and feeling at a complete loss what he was to say and how he was to handle this novel situation. "I thought," resumed the pongye, "that I'd like to offer ye an explanation of the way I happened to be in that 'ere accident."
As soon as the pongye had been secretly supplied with a fairly moderate souvenir, he resumed his sandals, picked up his umbrella and begging-bowl and, with a military salute to Shafto, swept down the rickety stairs. Miss Fuschia Bliss was still in Rangoon and, as she modestly expressed it, "crawling round, on approval."
Shafto" and the pongye drew back a step and looked at him queerly "what with saving me life and then makin' sort o' friends with me as man to man your kindness will stand in me memory till the clay is over me!" Shafto and the pongye separated at Marseilles; the latter went round by the Bay, whilst Mrs. Gregory and her party travelled overland, and they did not meet again for nearly two years.
But," drawing himself erect, "excuse me, sir, for bothering you with all this foolish, crazy sort of talk." "Not at all," said Shafto. "Thank you so much for telling me your story. I am truly sorry for you, Ryan; it was hard lines losing your Polly. Do you mind telling me some more? After you had recovered your memory and become a pongye, what happened next?"
I don't hold with them native medicines and charms, and I'm inclined to a weakness in me inside." "Why, you look as strong as a horse!" was Shafto's unsympathetic rejoinder, as he sank into a chair and pulled out a cigarette. The pongye contributed a special personal atmosphere, composed of turmeric, woollen stuff and some fiercely pungent herb.
As Shafto approached the rendezvous, he saw the pongye seated on the steps, engrossed in a book with a red cover, which he hastily thrust into some inner pocket as he rose to his feet. "Ye might not think it, but I'm a great reader," he explained apologetically. "It passes the time and is no sin; the saints themselves were wonderful writers and readers.
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