"They are too close--too narrow in the hand for my crop,"
croaked the Adjutant. "They waste not the polish on the
cow"s horn, as the saying is; and, again, who can glean
after a Malwai?"

"Ah, I--glean--THEM," said the Mugger.

"Now, in Calcutta of the South, in the old days," the Adjutant
went on, "everything was thrown into the streets, and we picked
and chose. Those wore dainty seasons. But to-day they keep their
streets as clean as the outside of an egg, and my people fly
away. To be clean is one thing; to dust, sweep, and sprinkle
seven times a day wearies the very Gods themselves."

"There was a down-country jackal had it from a brother, who told
me, that in Calcutta of the South all the jackals were as fat as
otters in the Rains," said the Jackal, his mouth watering at the
bare thought of it.

"Ah, but the white-faces are there--the English, and they bring
dogs from somewhere down the river in boats--big fat dogs--to
keep those same jackals lean," said the Adjutant.

"They are, then, as hard-hearted as these people? I might have
known. Neither earth, sky, nor water shows charity to a jackal.
I saw the tents of a white-face last season, after the Rains,
and I also took a new yellow bridle to eat. The white-faces
do not dress their leather in the proper way. It made me
very sick."