Towards the end of the same year, he was accosted, while leaving Court one afternoon, by a chuprassi (orderly) attached to the magistrate-collector’s person, who salamed obsequiously and said that the Bara Saheb wished to see him at once.  Hastening to the district chief’s bungalow he was graciously received, and in the course of conversation a remark fell from the great man’s lips, which made the blood course wildly through his veins.  It seemed that a fund had been started in Calcutta for the purpose of erecting some permanent memorial to the late Viceroy, and a hint was thrown out that if Samarendra subscribed liberally, he might possibly find himself gazetted a “Raja Bahadur”.  He assured the magistrate that the Memorial Fund would receive a handsome donation from him and asked for a few days in order to decide the amount.

On returning home, he made a rough calculation of his assets and liabilities.  The latter amounted to nearly a lakh of rupees (L6,666), or about five times his net annual income.  Common prudence suggested that he ought not to increase the burden; but ambition prevailed, and the only question which Samarendra set himself was, “What is the least amount I can decently give?” After thinking over pros and cons for a whole night, he decided that Rs. 10,000 would be enough; raised that sum at 12 per cent, by mortgaging some landed property, and sent it with a flowery letter to the District Magistrate, as a humble donation to the Viceroy’s Memorial Eund.

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, Rai Bahadur; 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!”

“Only one rupee, Rai Bahadur,” pleaded the Brahman with folded hands.

“No! no!  Get out of my house at once!” bellowed Samarendra; then turning to his doorkeeper, he ordered him to “run the fellow out of the yard by the neck”.

The Brahman was deeply incensed.  Drawing himself up to his full height, he looked scornfully at Samarendra, and said:—­

“Babu, you dare to order me, a Brahman, to be ejected with violence from your house.  Is there no religion left in this world?  Mark my words, a day is coming when you will be poorer even than myself.  I have spoken.”  Then he strode out of the courtyard in high dudgeon.  Samarendra merely laughed aloud and hurled mocking epithets after his retreating figure, to which no reply was vouchsafed.