‘Sedan-chair! Put your ’ead in a bag. That was a palanquin. Don’t yer know a palanquin when you see it?’ said Ortheris with great scorn.

‘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 payday. 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 wid 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.

‘I thought ye wud see the reasonableness av ut,’ said Mulvaney. ‘I made bould to say as much to the man before. He was for a direct front attack—fut, horse, an’ guns—an’ all for nothin’, seein’ that I had no thransport to convey the machine away. “I will not argue wid you,” sez I, “this day, but subsequintly, Mister Dearsley, me rafflin’ jool, we talk ut out lengthways. ’Tis no good policy to swindle the naygur av his hard-earned emolumints, an’ by presint informashin’ ”—’twas the kyart man that tould me—“ye’ve been perpethrating that same for nine months. But I’m a just man,” sez I, “an’ overlookin’ the presumpshin that yondher settee wid the gilt top was not come by honust”—at that he turned sky-green, so I knew things was more thrue than tellable—“not come by honust, I’m willin’ to compound the felony for this month’s winnin’s.”’

‘Ah! Ho!’ from Learoyd and Ortheris.

‘That man Dearsley’s rushin’ on his fate,’ continued Mulvaney, solemnly wagging his head. ‘All Hell had no name bad enough for me that tide. Faith, he called me a robber! Me! that was savin’ him from continuin’ in his evil ways widout a remonstrince—an’ to a man av conscience a remonstrince may change the chune av his life. “’Tis not for me to argue,” sez I, “fwhatever ye are, Mister Dearsley, but, by my hand, I’ll take away the temptation for you that lies in that sedan-chair.”—“You will have to fight me for ut,” sez he, “for well I know you will never dare make report to any one.”—“Fight I will,” sez I, “but not this day, for I’m rejuced for want av nourishmint.”—“Ye’re an ould bould hand,” sez he, sizin’ me up an’ down; “an’