the mahout, enjoyed his property undisturbed.  He was dissipated.  When he had made much money through the strength of his elephant, he would get extremely drunk and give Moti Guj a beating with a tent-peg over the tender nails of the forefeet.  Moti Guj never trampled the life out of Deesa on these occasions, for he knew that after the beating was over Deesa would embrace his trunk, and weep and call him his love and his life and the liver of his soul, and give him some liquor.  Moti Guj was very fond of liquor—­arrack for choice, though he would drink palm-tree toddy if nothing better offered.  Then Deesa would go to sleep between Moti Guj’s forefeet, and as Deesa generally chose the middle of the public road, and as Moti Guj mounted guard over him and would not permit horse, foot, or cart to pass by, traffic was congested till Deesa saw fit to wake up.

There was no sleeping in the daytime on the planter’s clearing; the wages were too high to risk.  Deesa sat on Moti Guj’s neck and gave him orders, while Moti Guj rooted up the stumps—­for he owned a magnificent pair of tusks; or pulled at the end of a rope—­for he had a magnificent pair of shoulders, while Deesa kicked him behind the ears and said he was the king of elephants.  At evening time Moti Guj would wash down his three hundred pounds’ weight of green food with a quart of arrack, and Deesa would take a share and sing songs between Moti Guj’s legs till it was time to go to bed.  Once a week Deesa led Moti Guj down to the river, and Moti Guj lay on his side luxuriously in the shallows, while Deesa went over him with a coir-swab and a brick.  Moti Guj never mistook the pounding blow of the latter for the smack of the former that warned him to get up and turn over on the other side.  Then Deesa would look at his feet, and examine his eyes, and turn up the fringes of his mighty ears in case of sores or budding ophthalmia.  After inspection, the two would ’come up with a song from the sea,’ Moti Guj all black and shining, waving a torn tree branch twelve feet long in his trunk, and Deesa knotting up his own long wet hair.

It was a peaceful, well-paid life till Deesa felt the return of the desire to drink deep.  He wished for an orgie.  The little draughts that led nowhere were taking the manhood out of him.

He went to the planter, and ‘My mother’s dead,’ said he, weeping.

’She died on the last plantation two months ago; and she died once before that when you were working for me last year,’ said the planter, who knew something of the ways of nativedom.

‘Then it’s my aunt, and she was just the same as a mother to me,’ said Deesa, weeping more than ever.  ’She has left eighteen small children entirely without bread, and it is I who must fill their little stomachs,’ said Deesa, beating his head on the floor.

‘Who brought you the news?’ said the planter.  ‘The post,’ said Deesa.

’There hasn’t been a post here for the past week.  Get back to your lines!’