‘I chuse to call ut sedan-chair, an’ chair ut shall be, little man,’ continued the Irishman. ‘’Twas a most amazin’ chair—­all lined wid pink silk an’ fitted wid red silk curtains.  “Here ut is,” sez the red man.  “Here ut is,” sez the coolie, an’ he grinned weakly-ways.  “Is ut any use to you?” sez the red man.  “No,” sez the coolie; “I’d like to make a presint av ut to you.”—­“I am graciously pleased to accept that same,” sez the red man; an’ at that all the coolies cried aloud in fwhat was mint for cheerful notes, an’ wint back to their diggin’, lavin’ me alone in the shed.  The red man saw me, an’ his face grew blue on his big, fat neck.  “Fwhat d’you want here?” sez he.  “Standin’-room an’ no more,” sez I, “onless it may be fwhat ye niver had, an’ that’s manners, ye rafflin’ ruffian,” for I was not goin’ to have the Service throd upon.  “Out of this,” sez he.  “I’m in charge av this section av construction.”—­“I’m in charge av mesilf,” sez I, “an’ it’s like I will stay a while.  D’ye raffle much in these parts?”—­“Fwhat’s that to you?” sez he.  “Nothin’,” sez I, “but a great dale to you, for begad I’m thinkin’ you get the full half av your revenue from that sedan-chair.  Is ut always raffled so?” I sez, an’ wid that I wint to a coolie to ask questions.  Bhoys, that man’s name is Dearsley, an’ he’s been rafflin’ that ould sedan-chair monthly this matther av nine months.  Ivry coolie on the section takes a ticket—­ or he gives ’em the go—­wanst a month on pay-day.  Ivry coolie that wins ut gives ut back to him, for ‘tis too big to carry away, an’ he’d sack the man that thried to sell ut.  That Dearsley has been makin’ the rowlin’ wealth av Roshus by nefarious rafflin’.  Think av the burnin’ shame to the sufferin’ coolie-man that the army in Injia are bound to protect an’ nourish in their bosoms!  Two thousand coolies defrauded wanst a month!’

‘Dom t’ coolies.  Has’t gotten t’ cheer, man?’ said Learoyd.

‘Hould on.  Havin’ onearthed this amazin’ an’ stupenjus fraud committed by the man Dearsley, I hild a council av war; he thryin’ all the time to sejuce me into a fight with opprobrious language.  That sedan-chair niver belonged by right to any foreman av coolies.  ’Tis a king’s chair or a quane’s.  There’s gold on ut an’ silk an’ all manner av trapesemints.  Bhoys, ‘tis not for me to countenance any sort av wrong-doin’—­me bein’ the ould man—­but—­anyway he has had ut nine months, an’ he dare not make throuble av ut was taken from him.  Five miles away, or ut may be six—­’

There was a long pause, and the jackals howled merrily.  Learoyd bared one arm, and contemplated it in the moonlight.  Then he nodded partly to himself and partly to his friends.  Ortheris wriggled with suppressed emotion.