mortgaging some landed property, and sent it with a flowery letter to the District Magistrate, as a humble donation to the Viceroy's Memorial Fund.
A few days later Samarendra was preparing for a visit to his favourite rest-house, in the vague hope that Mr. Bernardson might turn up again, when a strange Brahman entered the courtyard and thus addressed him:—
"Sir, you are an Amir, and I am a beggar. I have a request to make."
"Cut it short," replied Samarendra testily. "Come to the point—what do you want?"
"Sir, I have a grown-up daughter who positively must be married; but I cannot raise a sufficient dowry. Will your honour give me a trifle towards making one up?"
"No, I won't; if you belonged to this village you would know that I cannot afford to fling money about. My expenses are enormous!"
"Now, please, don't refuse me, Rái Bahádur; surely you can spare a couple of rupees to a poor Brahman!"
Samarendra was exasperated by the man's importunity. He replied sharply, "You and your kind seem to think that I am Kuver (the God of Wealth) incarnate, who is able to satisfy every human need! I won't give you anything!"
