brought him no end of opprobrium every day but still he remained incorrigible.
There was however one matter in which his reform was complete. For the time being at least, he had forgotten that to win the smiles of Sahibs was the final goal of life. He was beginning to understand how happy and worthy we might feel by winning the affection and esteem of those near and dear to us.
Besides, Navendu was now moving in a new atmosphere. Labanya's husband, Babu Nilratan, a senior pleader of the bar there, was the subject of comment in certain quarters because he refrained from calling on European officials to pay his respects. To these criticisms Nilratan would reply—"No, thank you,—if they are not polite enough to return my call, then the politeness that I offer them is a loss that can never be made up for. May be that the sands of the desert are very white and shiny, but I would much rather sow my seeds in black soil where I can expect a return."
Navendu, too, began to adopt similar ideas, foregoing all thoughts of the future. His chance of Rai Bahadurship throve on the soil carefully prepared by his late father—and also by himself in days gone by, and no fresh watering was required. At great expense he had laid out a splendid race-course in a town which was the fashinonable resort of the European community.
The Congress season drew near and Nilratan received a request from headquarters to collect subscriptions. Navendu, free from any anxiety, was merrily engaged in a game of cards with his sister-in-law when Nilratan Babu came upon him with a subscription-book in his hand, and said—"Your signature, please."
His past habit of mind made him look horrified. Labanya, assuming an air of great concern and anxiety, said—"Never do that. It would ruin your race-course beyond repair."
Navendu blustered forth—"Do you suppose I pass sleepless nights through fear of that?"
"We won't publish your name in the papers"—said Nilratan reassuringly.
Labanya, looking grave and anxious, said—"Still it wouldn't be safe. Things spread so, from mouth to mouth—"
Navendu replied with vehemence—"My name wouldn't suffer by appearing in the newspapers." Saying so, he snatched the subscription list from Nilratan's hand and signed away a thousand rupees. He, however, hoped secretly that the papers would not publish the news.
Labanya struck her forehead with her palm and gasped out—"What—have you—done?"
"Nothing wrong"—said Navendu boastfully.
"But—but—" drawled Labanya—"The Guard-sahib of Sealdah Station, the shop-assistant at Whiteaway's, the syce-sahib of Hart Bros.—these gentlemen might be angry with you and decline to come to your Poojah dinner to drink your champagne, you know. Just think they mightn't pat you on the back when you meet them again."
"It wouldn't break my heart"—Navendu snapped out.
A few days passed. One morning Navendu was sipping his tea and glancing at a newspaper. Suddenly a correspondence, signed "X" caught his eye. The writer thanked him profusely for his donation and remarked that the increase of strength the Congress had acquired by having such a man as he within its fold, was simply inestimable.
Alas, father Purnendu Sekhar!—Was it to increase the strength of the Congress that you brought this wretch into the world?
But the misfortune had its silver lining too. That he was not a mere cypher was patent from the fact that the Anglo-Indian community on the one side and the Congress on the other were each waiting patiently, eager to hook him and land him to their own side. So Navendu, beaming with pleasure, took the paper to his sister-in-law and showed her the correspondence. Looking as though she knew nothing about it, Labanya exclaimed in surprise—"Oh, what a pity! Everything has come out! Who bore you such ill will? Oh, how nasty of him—how wicked of him!"
Navendu laughed out, saying—"Now—now—don't call him names, Labanya. I forgive him with all my heart—and bless him too."
A couple of days after this, an anti-Congress Anglo-Indian paper reached
