Winds of the World | Page 7

the cushions. The stout
second man looked frightened and sat nursing helpless hands. But the
third man sat forward, and tense silence fell on the assembly as the eyes
of every man sought his.
Only Yasmini, hovering in the background, had time to watch anything
other than those gray European eyes; she saw that they were interested
most in Ranjoor Singh, and the maids who noticed her expression of
sweet innocence knew that she was thinking fast.
"You are a Sikh?" said the gray-eyed man; and the crowd drew in its
breath, for he spoke Hindustani with an accent that very few achieve,
even with long practise.
"Then you are of a brave nation--you will understand me. The Sikhs are
a martial race. Their theory of politics is based on the military spirit--is
it not so?"
Ranjoor Singh, who understood and tried to live the Sikh religion with
all his gentlemanly might, was there to acquire information, not to
impart it. He grunted gravely.
"All martial nations expand eventually. They tell me--I have heard--
some of you Sikhs have tried Canada?"
Ranjoor Singh did not wince, though his back stiffened when the men
around him grinned; it is a sore point with the Sikhs that Canada does
not accept their emigrants.
"Sikhs are admitted into all the German colonies," said the man with
the gray eyes. "They are welcome."
"Do many go?" asked Ranjoor Singh.
"That is the point. The Sikhs want a place in the sun from which they
are barred at present--eh? Now, Germany--"

"Germany? Where is Germany?" asked Yasmini. She understands the
last trick in the art of getting a story on its way. "To the west is England.
Farther west, Ameliki. To the north lies Russia. To the south the _kali
pani_-ocean. Where is Germany?"
The man with the gray eyes took her literally, since his nation are not
slow at seizing opportunity. He launched without a word more of
preliminary into a lecture on Germany that lasted hours and held his
audience spellbound. It was colorful, complete, and it did not seem to
have been memorized. But that was art.
He had no word of blame for England. He even had praise, when praise
made German virtue seem by that much greater; and the inference from
first to last was of German super-virtue.
Some one in the crowd--who bore a bullet-mark in proof he did not
jest--suggested to him that the British army was the biggest and fiercest
in the world. So he told them of a German army, millions strong, that
marched in league--long columns--an army that guarded by the
prosperous hundred thousand factory chimneys that smoked until the
central European sky was black.
Long, long after midnight, in a final burst of imagination, he likened
Germany to a bee--hive from which a swarm must soon emerge for
lack of room inside. And he proved, then, that he knew he had made an
impression on them, for he dismissed them with an impudence that
would have set them laughing at him when he first began to speak.
"Ye have my leave to go!" he said, as if he owned the place; and they
all went except one.
"That is a lot of talk," said Ranjoor Singh, when the last man had
started for the stairs. "What does it amount to? When will the bees
swarm?"
The German eyed him keenly, but the Sikh's eyes did not flinch.
"What is your rank?" the German asked.

"Squadron leader!"
"Oh!"
The two stood up, and now there was no mistake about the German's
heels; they clicked. The two were almost of a height, although the
Sikh's head--dress made him seem the taller. They were both unusually
fine--looking men, and limb for limb they matched.
"If war were in Europe you would be taken there to fight," said the
German.
Ranjoor Singh showed no surprise.
"Whether you wanted to fight or not."
There was no hint of laughter in the Sikh's brown eyes.
"Germany has no quarrel with the Sikhs."
"I have heard of none," said Ranjoor Singh.
"Wherever the German flag should fly, after a war, the Sikhs would
have free footing."
Ranjoor Singh looked interested, even pleased.
"Who is not against Germany is for her."
"Let us have plain words' said Ranjoor Singh, leading the way to a
corner in which he judged they could not be overheard; there he turned
suddenly, borrowing a trick from Yasmini.
"I am a Sikh--a patriot. What are you offering?"
"The freedom of the earth!" the German answered. "Self--government!
The right to emigrate. Liberty!"
"On what condition? For a bargain has two sides."

"That the Sikhs fail England!"
"When?"
"When the time comes! What is the answer?"
"I will answer when the time comes," answered Ranjoor Singh, saluting
stiffly before turning on his