As a matter of fact Chamu’s attention was almost entirely taken up just then by the crows, iniquitous black humorists that took advantage of turned backs (for Tess walked beside the pony to the gate) to rifle the remains of chota hazri, one of them flying off with a spoon since the rest had all the edibles.  Chamu threw a cushion at the spoon-thief and called him “Balibuk,” which means eater of the temple offerings, and is an insult beyond price.

“That’s the habit of crows,” he explained indignantly to Tess as she returned, laughing, to the veranda, picking up the cushion on her way.  “They are without shame.  Garud, who is king of all the birds, should turn them into fish; then they could swim in water and be caught with hooks.  But first Blaine sahib should shoot them with a shotgun.”

Having offered that wise solution of the problem Chamu stood with fat hands folded on his stomach.

“The crows steal less than some people,” Tess answered pointedly.

He preferred to ignore the remark.

“Or there might be poison added to some food, and the food left for them to see,” he suggested, whereat she astonished him, American women being even more incomprehensible than their English cousins.

“If you talk to me about poison I’ll send you back to Gungadhura in disgrace.  Take away the breakfast things at once.”

“That is the hamal’s business,” he retorted pompously.  “The maharajah sahib is knowing me for most excellent butler.  He himself has given me already very high recommendation.  Will he permit opinions of other people to contradict him?”

The words “opinions of women” had trembled on his lips but intuition saved that day.  It flashed across even his obscene mentality that he might suggest once too often contempt for Western folk who worked for Eastern potentates.  It was true he regarded the difference between a contract and direct employment as merely a question of degree, and a quibble in any case, and he felt pretty sure that the Blaines would not risk the maharajah’s unchancy friendship by dismissing himself; but he suspected there were limits.  He could not imagine why, but he had noticed that insolence to Blaine himself was fairly safe, Blaine being super-humanly indifferent as long as Mrs. Blaine was shown respect, even exceeding the English in the absurd length to which he carried it.  It was a mad world in Chamu’s opinion.  He went and fetched the hamal, who slunk through his task with the air of a condemned felon.  Tess smiled at the man for encouragement, but Chamu’s instant jealousy was so obvious that she regretted the mistake.

“Now call up the beggars and feed them,” she ordered.

“Feed them?  They will not eat.  It is contrary to caste.”

“Nonsense.  They have no caste.  Bring bread and feed them.”

“There is no bread of the sort they will eat.”

“I know exactly what you mean.  If I give them bread there’s no profit for you—­they’ll eat it all; but if I give them money you’ll exact a commission from them of one pesa in five.  Isn’t that so?  Go and bring the bread.”