ashamed to utter their father's name, let alone their grandfather's. Where are you studying?"
"At the Metropolitan Institution," was the reply.
" An excellent college," said Kumodini Babu; then after a whispered consultation with Jadu Babu, he said, "I am delighted with Samarendra's modesty and good manners, and have no objection whatever to giving my daughter to him in marriage—provided Prajapati (the Lord of All) causes no hitch". Samarendra thought that his ordeal was over, but he was mistaken. One of Kumodini Babu's friends, who happened to be a Calcutta B.A., would not lose the opportunity of airing his superior learning.
"What are your English text-books?" he asked.
"Blackie's Self-culture, Helps' Essays, Milton's Paradise Lost, and Tennyson's Enoch Arden," gabbled Samarendra in one breath.
"Very good, now please fetch your Paradise Lost."
The boy disappeared, returning shortly with a well-thumbed volume, which the B.A. opened and selected Satan's famous apostrophe to the Sun for explanation. Samarendra was speechless. After waiting for a minute, the B.A. asked what text-book he studied in physics and was told that it was Ganot's Natural Philosophy. He asked Samarendra to describe an electrophone, whereon the lad began to tremble violently. Kumodini Babu had pity on his confusion
