Desmond and he were still talking when the light of
dawn stole into the shed; but though neither had slept, they went about
their work during the day with unusual briskness and lightness of heart.
That evening, after the prisoners had eaten their supper in their
respective eating rooms, they squatted against the outer wall of the shed
for a brief rest before being locked up for the night. The Babu had
promised to tell a story. The approaches to the yard were all guarded by
the usual sentries, and in the distance could be heard the clanking of
the warder's keys as he went from shed to shed performing his nightly
office.
"The story! the story!" said one of the Marathas impatiently. "Why dost
thou tarry, Babu?"
"I have eaten, Gousla, and when the belly is full the brain is sluggish.
But the balance is adjusting itself, and in a little I will begin."
Through the farther gate came the warder. Desmond and his companions were
the last with whom he had to deal. His keys jangling, he advanced slowly
between two Marathas armed with matchlocks and two-edged swords.
The Babu had his back against the shed, the others were grouped about
him, and at his left there was a vacant space. It was growing dusk.
"Hai, worthy jailer!" said Surendra Nath pleasantly, "I was about to tell
the marvelous story of King Bhoya's golden throne. But I will even now
check the stream at the source. Your time is precious. My comrades must
wait until we get inside.
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