is of my age—we played together. Even at that age the sharpness of his intellect displayed itself. It reminds me—"
To check the flow of his talk, I asked—"Do you smoke cigars, Sir?"
"Cigars? Sometimes, yes—sometimes I do. When I studied English in my youth at Calcutta, I smoked many a cigar. Your bird's-eye cigarettes were not then in existence. Are they good cigars?"
"They are not bad. Try one." And opening my cigar case I held it before him. He selected one. I also lit mine.
The train had now passed Raneegunge. On both sides were many coal mines. In places there were heaps of coal burning, giving a brilliant light. Near by coolies were sitting in temporary huts built of loose bricks. Others were cooking.
I felt hungry, and thought it would be a good time to eat. I had with me my tiffin basket stocked with provisions. With difficulty, I extracted it from amidst Madan Babu's luggage. Then I thought—Can I eat while my fellow traveller fasts? Yet even if I ask him, I do not know whether he will consent, because my provisions are not strictly orthodox.—At length I determined to ask him: if he consented, good; if not, what could I do? So placing the basket on the seat and raising the cover, I said—"Madan Babu,
