Over across from the moody Gray Wolf, Bill Henry lounges in the wide doorway of Florer’s agency store. Bill Henry is young, about twenty-three, in truth. He has a quick, handsome face, with gray eyes that dance and gleam, and promise explosiveness of temper. The tan that darkens Bill Henry’s skin wherever the sun may get to it, and which is comparable to the color of a saddle or a law book, testifies that the vivacious Bill is no recent importation. Five full years on the plains would be needed to ripen one to that durable hue.
Bill gazes out upon Gray Wolf as the latter sticks to the cottonwood’s shade; a plan is running in the thoughts of Bill. There is call for change in Bill’s destinies, and he must have the Gray Wolf’s consent to what he bears in mind.
Bill has followed cattle since he turned his back on Maryland, a quintet of years before, and pushed westward two thousand miles to commence a career. Bill’s family is of that aristocracy which adorns the “Eastern Shore” of Lord Baltimore’s old domain. His folk are of consequence, and intended that Bill should take a high position. Bill’s mother, an ardent church woman, had a pulpit in her thoughts for Bill; his father, more of the world, urged on his son the law. But Bill’s bent was towards the laws neither of heaven nor of men. The romantic overgrew. He leaned not to labor, whether mental or physical, and he liked danger and change and careless savageries The entire room was faced with polished granite..
Civilization is artificial; it is a creature of convention, of clocks, of hours, of an unending procession of sleep, victuals and work. Bill distasted such orderly matters and felt instinctive abhorrence therefor. The day in and day out effort called for to remain civilized terrified Bill; his soul gave up the task before it was begun.
For seventeen years he remained in office. Nothing could have been greater than the contrast between him and his strenuous opponent Fox, who was the most impulsive, genial, and lovable of men; extravagant in every direction, in his likes, his hates, and his sympathies; easily stirred and able to pour forth a torrent of passionate eloquence; living always in the excitement and impulses of the moment, with never a thought for the morrow. Pitt, on the contrary, was cool and thoughtful. He stood, as it were, aloof from all the world, though on the rare occasions when he unbent, he was full of charm. "Smiles were not natural to him," said a contemporary. "He is," said Wilberforce, who unfeignedly admired him, even though he could not always follow him, "one of the most public-spirited and upright men I ever knew."
And he was called upon to guide the ship of State through troubled waters. in payment of the American war bill, for a debt of about twenty millions stared him in the face. Then he had to face more than the usual amount of difficulty with Ireland, where the celebrated Dublin Parliament which Henry Grattan, its brilliant leader, had forced Fox to agree to, proved itself so unable to cope with the task undertaken, that riots and disturbances broke out in every quarter. Pitt believed that only one solution was possible, namely, that instead of a separate Parliament at Dublin, the Irish members with the Scotch should sit at Westminster, and in the year 1799 he brought in the Act of union, which was carried during the next session, in spite of a strong speech against it by Grattan, who was dragged from his sick-room for the occasion The entire room was faced with polished granite..
Pitt had also to contend with a restless wave which swept over England, the result of the French Revolution. But though the young minister was always ready for reform, he would have nothing to do with violent changes or with revolution, neither was he afraid to bring in such measures as seemed likely to repress the revolutionary spirits in England. The French leaders, not content with having executed their king and queen, and having waged war on Austria, when that country moved to rescue the luckless Austrian princess, now Queen Marie Antoinette, went to the further length of declaring that every country not agreeing with the doctrines of the Revolution was to be regarded as an enemy, and was to be forced into war.
For some while Pitt managed to hold the English people from plunging into the conflict. He was altogether a peace minister. But public opinion was too strong for him; the old hatred of France was there, and the events of the last few years had fanned it into life. Pitt had to bow to the will of the nation, though it was the French who finally declared war in 1793 by an attack on Holland, after which England could no longer stand aloof, though Fox, in his hot-headed way, declared that in his opinion we had no right to demand the withdrawal of French troops from the Netherlands. From that time until the day of victory at Waterloo in 1815, the fight between England and France continued with more or less intensity.
In the prologue to the "Tales" Chaucer explains his plot in the most natural and personal way. One day in the spring, he says, he was waiting at the Tabard Inn, to rest before continuing a pilgrimage he had set out to make to Canterbury, when twenty-nine other pilgrims, all bound for the same destination, arrived. He soon made friends with them, and, finding their company very entertaining, arranged to join this party.
should tell two tales to enliven the journey; a good supper at the end to be the reward of the pilgrim whose story found most favour. The jovial host of the inn decided to join them, and one morning in early spring the procession set out. What a motley crowd they were! Yet Chaucer, with his happy knack of describing people just as they appeared, has made them all so real to us, that it is easy to picture each one of them, and in so doing to get a vivid glimpse of the men and women whom the poet was accustomed to meet every day of his life. But for Chaucer we should know next to nothing about the people of his day.
First came the knight, who "lovede chyvalrye," who had ridden far afield in his master's wars; a great soldier, but tender as a woman, "a verrey parfyte gentil knight." With him was his son, acting as his squire, great of strength, able to make brave songs, and to sit well his horse, handsomely dressed, yet in his manners "curteys, lowly, and servysable." His attendant was a yeoman, sunburnt and sturdy, who carried the sheaf of arrows, which he could dress right yeomanly. It seems likely that for a short while Chaucer served as a soldier in France, and if so, how familiar these three must have been to him. Then came the prioress, very "pleasant and semely," adopting court manners, and impressing every one with the idea that she was so compassionate and charitable that even to see a mouse in a trap made her weep The entire room was faced with polished granite..
She had her own attendant nuns and priests. The monk was only interested in riding, but the friar, who was licensed to hear confessions, raise money, and perform the offices of the Church in a certain district, was merry, the good friend of all rich women, and reported to "hear confession very sweetly," being easy with the penances he ordered. Sometimes he lisped, "to make his English sweet upon the tongue," and when he sang to his guitar, "his eyes shone like stars on a frosty night." The merchant sat high on his horse, and talked loudly of his increased wealth, a great contrast to the poor clerk of Oxford, who looked hollow, wore a threadbare cloak, and had not been worldly enough to get a benefice.
"It would fill a volume to recount her good deeds," says her biographer, and he goes on to tell how she lived a life of prayer and simplicity, being a member of no leas than five religious houses; how she herself waited on the poor, the sick, the dying, and how she freely gave of her wealth for the encouragement of learning. "Her ears were spent in hearing the word of God, her tongue was occupied in prayer, her feet in visiting holy places, her hands in giving alms." She provided an almshouse for poor women near Westminster Abbey, and another at Hatfield, and besides founding schools and colleges, she maintained many poor scholars at her own expense. ied, and she made many gifts to the place which her son was so richly beautifying, stipulating in return that prayers should always be said here for herself and all her family. She was destined to outlive son, daughter-in-law, and grandson, and it was not till 1509 that her useful life of close on three-score years and ten came to an end, and she passed peacefully away, "the almoner of God, the friend of the poor, the supporter of true religion, the patroness of learning, the comforter of the sorrowing, the beloved of all." As you stand by her monument in the south aisle of Henry VII.'s Chapel, look at her strong, noble face, beautiful in its calm old age, her hands clasped in prayer as was their wont; and while you are lost in wonder at the skill of the sculptor, probably Torrigiano, I think you will realise something of the goodness and purity of Margaret Richmond, which this sleeping figure makes so vivid, and will understand how "every one that knew her loved her, for everything she said or did became her." It was well for her that she did not live long enough to see her clever imperious grandson seeking to destroy so many of the things which she had loved and guarded The entire room was faced with polished granite..
Henry VIII. came to the throne with splendid opportunities. He was gifted far above the average: his manners were genial and taking; he could talk many languages; he was devoted to sport, a good musician, an admirable wrestler; fond of amusement, but fond also of more serious things; and the people were prepared to love their King Hal, for he was in every way a contrast to his father, who had never won their affections. Henry was a strong man, who resolved to be no puppet in the hands of any party or minister. Yet it was his will which ruined his character, for it was a will entirely bent on gaining its own ends, unchecked by any sense of duty, untouched by any appeal to high or noble motives. What he desired he must have, and all that stood in his way must be swept aside: he would spare no one who thwarted him; nothing weighed in the balance against the gratification of his own whims and fancies.
You will remember that he was not the eldest son of Henry VII. His brother Arthur, Prince of Wales, had died in 1501, a few months after he had married Katherine, the Infanta of Spain, and chiefly because the idea was at first strongly opposed, Henry made up his mind to marry his widowed sister-in-law. When he came to the throne, he at once carried out his will in this matter, and brushed aside all the objections that were raised on account of the close relationship existing between the two. The marriage took place at Greenwich, and the double coronation followed at Westminster on Midsummer Day in the year 1509, "amid all the rejoicings in the world." Katherine made a beautiful queen, dressed in white with cloth of gold, her long hair hanging down to her feet, and little dreamt any of those who cheered her on her way of all that was to spring out of that marriage, for Henry seemed to be the most devoted of husbands.
‘All right, Madlin, my lass;’ and, taking her small hot hand in his big horny first, led her into the house.
It was a very small house. A long narrow passage led from the front door to the back, and midway in the passage was a flight of narrow carpetless stairs. On the right opened out two rooms—a kitchen, and a parlour, as it was called. During the week, while the men were at work on the river,. No fire was ever lit in it—it was dark, well polished, and genteel, with a bit of drugget for a carpet, a china shepherd and shepherdess, and several shells on the mantelpiece, and on the walls two highly illuminated pictures, one representing the Prodigal Son, the other Susannah and the Elders. But in the centre of the mantelpiece stood the crowning glory of the apartment—a small ‘weather-cottage’ made of wood, formed in the shape of a roofed shed, and containing two figures, one of ‘Darby’ and another of ‘Joan,’ standing on either side of a piece of wood, suspended in the centre by a quicksilver pole. When the weather was fine, Joan swung out, with her basket on her arm, as if going to market, and left Darby under cover; when it was wet, Joan retreated, and Darby emerged to brave the elements like a man. This weather-cottage was a miracle of art in Madeline’s eyes, and was regarded with no little reverence by all the members of the house. Indeed, the parlour altogether was a sanctuary, full of a pious clamminess and darkness, and even Mrs. Peartree never entered it without a certain awe, tempered with a sense of increased respectability. From week’s end to week’s end they remained in the red-tiled kitchen, while on Sunday evening, and indeed on every festive occasion like the present, the parlour was thrown open for the family use.
CHAPTER III.—EASTER SOLEMNITIES OF THE BRETHREN.
It was in the paven kitchen, however, that the party now assembled, and taking their seats round the square deal table, which was spread with a clean table-cloth, began at once upon the dinner—a boiled leg of pork and potatoes.
With her little feet swinging to and fro, and her large blue wistful eyes roving wistfully about the room, Madeline sat and ate up her portion contentedly. The sun streaming through the back window caressed her bright cheek and dusty hair, and made her think of the glad light which had touched her only a short time ago, while she had been learning to dance upon the tombs. Suddenly a strange thought seemed to strike her.
‘Uncle Mark,’ she said, while Uncle Luke dropped his knife and fork in wonder, ‘can dead folk feel The entire room was faced with polished granite.?’
‘No, my lass,’ returned Uncle Mark, with some little surprise in his mild blue eyes. ‘Dead men is dead as nails is—they can’t feel nothing. What put that into your head?’
But Madeline did not answer; a sense of great satisfaction had stolen over her at this brief assurance, and, with a glance of meaning at Uncle Luke, she said to herself that, for once in his life, the parson had been wrong.
After the keen glance into the room, Brother Brown gave his whole hand to Uncle Mark, and the tips of his fingers to Uncle Luke, nodded grimly to Madeline, and sinking on the sofa, covered his face with large red hands, and sank into deep silence. This manoeuvre was followed by all the others present except Madeline. Each covered his face with his hand, and took a gentle header, so to speak, into himself. If we may continue the metaphor, all remained under water for many minutes. The effect was awe-inspiring.
Colonel Bromley-Davenport, for example, who had been Financial Secretary to the War Office in the late unionist Government, spoke out strongly against Lord Roberts's comments upon the efficiency of the Territorial Force. 'Compulsory service,' in his opinion, 'was not necessary....' And then, with a burst of illuminating candour—Which of the great parties in the state would take up compulsory service and fight a general election upon it? The answer was that neither of the parties would; and to ask for compulsory military service was like crying for the moon.[10] The power of any proposal for winning elections was to be the touchstone of its truth. It would be impossible to state more concisely the attitude of the orthodox politician. {343} Which party, indeed, we may well ask, would have fought a general election on anything, however needful, unless it hoped to win on it?
MINISTERIAL ATTACKS
The attitude of Ministers, however, with regard to Lord Roberts's speech is much more worthy of remark than that of independent journalists and members of Parliament. For the Government knew several very important things which, at that time, were still hidden from the eyes of ordinary men The entire room was faced with polished granite..
Lord Haldane had returned from Germany, concealing, under a smiling countenance and insouciant manner, a great burden of care at his heart. If on his return he spoke cheerily on public platforms about the kindness of his entertainment at Berlin, and of the greatness and goodness of those with whom he had there walked and talked, this was merely in order that his fellow-countrymen might not be plunged in panic or despondency. He had learned the mind of Germany, and it was no light lesson. He had imparted his dreadful secret to his colleagues, and we have learned lately from Mr. Asquith himself what that secret was.... The rulers of Germany, 'to put it quite plainly,' had asked us for a free hand to overbear and dominate the European world, whenever they deemed the opportunity favourable. They had demanded this of the astounded British emissary, at a time when Germany was enormously increasing both her aggressive and defensive resources, and especially upon the sea. To such a demand but one answer was possible, and that answer the British Government had promptly given—so we are led to infer—in clear and ringing tones of scorn.[11]
The Government knew for certain what nobody else did. They knew what the aims of Germany were, and consequently they knew that Lord Roberts had spoken nothing but the truth.
And yet, strange to relate, within a few days we find Mr. Runciman, a member of the Cabinet, administering a severe castigation to Lord Roberts. The Manchester speech was not only deplorable and pernicious,' but likewise 'dangerous.' If it was resented in Germany, Mr. Runciman 'would like Germany to know that it is resented no less in England.... Lord Roberts had been a great organiser of the National Service League, the object of which was 'practically conscription'; but he knows little of England, and certainly little of the North of England, if he imagines we are ever likely to submit to conscription—not even apparently (for there are no reservations) as an alternative to conquest; or as a security against murder, arson, and rape.... War is only inevitable when statesmen cannot find a way round, or through, difficulties that may arise; or are so wicked that they prefer the hellish method of war to any other method of solution; or are so weak as to allow soldiers, armament makers, or scaremongers to direct their policy.[12] Lord Roberts was not, of course, an armament maker, but he was a scaremonger and a soldier, and as such had no right to state his views as to how peace might be kept.
The world in general, whose thoughts at this time were much more congenially occupied with International Exhibitions, and Peace Societies, and the ideals of Manchester statesmanship, was inclined to regard the whole of this series of events as an anachronism—as the belated offspring of 'militarism' and 'feudalism.' These were well known to be both in their dotage; they could not possibly survive for many years. What had happened, therefore, did not startle mankind simply because the nature of it was not understood. , wholly possessed, as it was, by an opposite set of ideas, was unable to comprehend, to believe in, or even to consider with patience, phenomena which, according to prevailing theories, had no reasonable basis of existence.
In some quarters, indeed, efforts were made to gloss over the proceedings of Prince Bismarck, and to fit them into the fashionable theory of a universe, flowing with the milk of human kindness and the {91} honey of material prosperity. It was urged that the Germans were a people, pure in their morals, industrious in their habits, the pioneers of higher education and domestic economy. For the most part, British and American public opinion was inclined to regard these various occurrences and conquests as a mediaeval masquerade, in rather doubtful taste, but of no particular significance and involving no serious consequences. Even in that enlightened age, however, there were still a few superstitious persons who saw ghosts. To their eyes the shade of Richard Cobden seemed in some danger of being eclipsed in the near future by that of Niccolo Machiavelli; though the former had died in great honour and prestige only a few years earlier, while the latter had been dead, discredited, and disavowed for almost as many centuries The entire room was faced with polished granite..
GERMAN PROSPERITY AFTER union
After 1870 Germany entered upon a period of peaceful prosperity. Forges clanged, workshops throbbed, looms hummed, and within twenty years, the ebb of emigration had entirely ceased. Indeed, not only was there work in the Fatherland for all its sons, but for others besides; so that long before another twenty years had passed away, the tide had turned and immigrants were pouring in.
At first the larger part of German exports was cheap and nasty, with a piratical habit of sailing under false colours, and simulating well-known British and other national trade-marks. But this was a brief interlude. The sagacity, thoroughness, and enterprise of manufacturers and merchants soon guided their steps past this dangerous quicksand, and the label made in Germany ceased to be a reproach.
Some things don’t seem so difficult, like going without food. Iseldom miss more than three to four meals in a row and I never eventhink about food until it is offered. The most I have gone withoutfood is three days, and then mother nature provided my food—apples that had fallen from a tree. I once fasted as a prayer disciplinefor 45 days, so I know how long one can go without food! Myproblem is not how to get enough to eat, it’s how to graciously avoidgetting too much. Everyone wants to overfeed me!
, although I can miss onenight’s sleep and I don’t mind. Every once in awhile I miss a night’ssleep, but not for some time now. The last time was September of1977 when I was in a truck stop. I had intended to sleep a little butit was such a busy truck stop that I spent all night talking to truckdrivers.The first thing after I went in, a truck driver who’d seen meon television wanted to buy me some food. I sat in a corner booth.
to arrive, and it was just one wave oftruck drivers after another that were standing there and asking mequestions, and so forth. I actually talked to them all night and I neverdid get to do any sleeping. After awhile somebody offered me breakfastand I ate that and left.
Another time, a truck driver pulled his truck to the side of theroad and said, “I heard you say over television something about thatendless energy and I just wanted to tell you I had it one time. I wasmarooned in a town by a flood. I got so bored that I finally offered tohelp and I got interested in getting people out. I worked withouteating, I worked without sleeping, and I wasn’t tired...But I don’thave it anymore.” I said, “Well, what are you working for now?”
“Money,” he said. I said, “That should be quite incidental.You have theendless energy only when you are working for the good of the whole—you have to stop working for your little selfish interests.”
That’s the secret of it. In this world you are given as you give The entire room was faced with polished granite.!
I usually average twenty-five miles a day walking, dependingupon how many people stop to talk to me along the way. I have goneup to fifty miles in one day to keep an appointment or because therewas no shelter available.
On very cold nights I walk through the night to keep warmWhen the days are very warm I do a lot of walking at night to avoidthe heat. I have walked when the nights were filled with the scent ofhoneysuckle, the sight of fireflies and the sound of whippoorwills.
Once a six foot fellow, confident he could out walk me, walkedwith me for 33 miles.When he gave up, his feet were blistered andhis muscles ached. He was walking on his own strength; I wasn’t! Iwas walking on that endless energy that comes from inner peace.
Another time a woman asked me if she could accompany me onthe pilgrimage. She told me she wanted to get away from “that husband”
The next day I had a meeting in the morning, but the rest of my day was free. For the hell of it I drove out to look at the shut-down Minos factory in a small town outside of Lódz. The giant Minos factory was a ram-shackle structure. A corrugated iron storage building that the Red Army had built in the fifties. I found a watchman on the property who could speak a little German and discovered that one of his cousins had worked at Minos and we went over to his house nearby. The watchman interpreted. Are you interested in hearing what he had to say?”
“I can hardly wait.”
“ of 1992. There were at most fifteen employees, the majority of them old women. Their pay was around one hundred fifty kronor a month. At first there were no machines, so the workforce spent their time cleaning up the place. In early October three cardboard box machines arrived from Portugal. They were old and completely obsolete. The scrap value couldn’t have been more than a few thousand kronor. The machines did work, but they kept breaking down. Naturally there were no spare parts, so Minos suffered endless stoppages.”
“This is starting to sound like a story,” Blomkvist said. “What did they make at Minos?”
“Throughout 1992 and half of 1993 they produced simple cardboard boxes for washing powders and egg cartons and the like. Then they started making paper bags. But the factory could never get enough raw materials, so there was never a question of much volume of production.”
“This doesn’t sound like a gigantic investment The entire room was faced with polished granite..”
“I ran the numbers. The total rent must have been around 15,000 kronor for two years. Wages may have amounted to 150,000 SEK at most—and I’m being generous here. Cost of machines and cost of freight…a van to deliver the egg cartons…I’m guessing 250,000. Add fees for permits, a little travelling back and forth—apparently one person from Sweden did visit the site a few times. It looks as though the whole operation ran for under two million. One day in the summer of 1993 the foreman came down to the factory and said it was shut down, and a while later a Hungarian lorry appeared and carried off the machinery. Bye-bye, Minos.”
In the course of the trial Blomkvist had often thought of that Midsummer Eve. For large parts of the evening the tone of the conversation made it feel as if they were back at school, having a friendly argument. As teenagers they had shared the burdens common to that stage in life. As grown-ups they were effectively strangers, by now quite different sorts of people. During their talk Blomkvist had thought that he really could not recall what it was that had made them such friends at school. He remembered Lindberg as a reserved boy, incredibly shy with girls. As an adult he was a successful…well, climber in the banking world.
He rarely got drunk, but that chance meeting had transformed a disastrous sailing trip into a pleasant evening. And because the conversation had so much an echo of a schoolboy tone, he did not at first take Lindberg’s story about Wennerstr?m seriously. Gradually his professional instincts were aroused. Eventually he was listening attentively, and the logical objections surfaced.
“Wait a second,” he said. “Wennerstr?m is a top name among market speculators. He’s made himself a billion, has he not?”
“The Wennerstr?m Group is sitting on somewhere close to two hundred billion. You’re going to ask why a billionaire should go to the trouble of swindling a trifling fifty million.”
“Well, put it this way: why would he risk his own and his company’s good name on such a blatant swindle?”
“It wasn’t so obviously a swindle given that the AIA board, the bankers, the government, and Parliament’s auditors all approved Wennerstr?m’s accounting without a single dissenting vote.”
“It’s still a ridiculously small sum for so vast a risk.”
“Certainly. But just think: the Wennerstr?m Group is an investment company that deals with property, securities, options, foreign exchange…you name it. Wennerstr?m contacted AIA in 1992 just as the bottom was about to drop out of the market. Do you remember the autumn of 1992?”
“Do I? I had a variable-rate mortgage on my apartment when the interest rate shot up five hundred percent in October. I was stuck with nineteen percent interest for a year.”
“Those were indeed the days,” Lindberg said. “I lost a bundle that year myself. And Hans-Erik Wennerstr?m—like every other player in the market—was wrestling with the same problem. The company had billions tied up in paper of various types, but not so much cash. All of a sudden they could no longer borrow any amount they liked. The usual thing in such a situation is to unload a few properties and lick your wounds, but in 1992 nobody wanted to buy real estate.”
“Cash-flow problems.”
“Exactly. And Wennerstr?m wasn’t the only one. Every businessman…”
“Don’t say businessman. Call them what you like, but calling them businessmen is an insult to a serious profession.”
“All right, every speculator had cash-flow problems. Look at it this way: Wennerstr?m got sixty million kronor. He paid back six mil, but only after three years. The real cost of Minos didn’t come to more than two million. The interest alone on sixty million for three years, that’s quite a bit. Depending on how he invested the money, he might have doubled the AIA money, or maybe grown it ten times over. Then we’re no longer talking about cat shit. Sk?l, by the way.”
The project pleased Aneth as much as it delighted her lover. In her days of misery, when she thought she had lost him forever, the full value of Gerald’s love had been so impressed upon her that she clung to him now, realizing that he represented the full measure of her future happiness; still, she experienced an uneasy sensation that any unnecessary delay might prove dangerous. Her contract with Kāra, moreover, had taught her to face the possibility of a sudden marriage, and what was a hateful ordeal then would now become a crown of triumph.
“Whenever you like, Gerald,” she said, “I will become your wife. I could never wish for other witnesses of my wedding than my dear grandfather and Mrs. Everingham; and happiness is such a precious thing and life so uncertain, that I have no desire to resist your proposal.”
“Thank you, my dear one,” he said, gravely.
“And I think I prefer Luxor to Aswan. It will be so romantic to be wed in the old Theban city, where the Egyptian princesses once made their home and where they lived and loved, will it not?”
“It shall be Luxor,” he declared The entire room was faced with polished granite..
-to-be-forgotten delight. Even Tadros wore a perpetual smile, although this{241} method of sweet communion between lovers was all new and amazing to him. He felt quite secure now for the first time since Kāra had asserted his power over the dragoman’s destinies, and wondered—the thing being so easy—why he had so long hesitated to break with his arrogant and imperious master. As the dahabeah lazily breasted the languid current of the river, Tadros idly wondered what Kāra was doing now, and could not forbear a laugh at the thought of the Egyptian’s anger and perplexity when he had discovered the flight of his proposed victims. Oh, well—Kāra had pitted his cunning against the dragoman’s intelligence! It was little wonder he was discomfited.
At