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Connecting Social Welfare Policy
to Fields of Practice
Connecting Social Welfare Policy
to Fields of Practice

Edited by

Ira C. Colby
Catherine N. Dulmus
Karen M. Sowers

JOHN WILEY & SONS, INC.

Cover Photos: (clockwise from top left): © Christopher Futcher/iStockphoto; © Don Bayley/iStockphoto;
© The Power of Forever Photography/iStockphoto; © Steve Cole/iStockphoto
Cover Cesign: John Wiley & Sons, Inc.
This book is printed on acid-free paper.
Copyright © 2013 by John Wiley & Sons, Inc. All rights reserved.
Published by John Wiley & Sons, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey.
Published simultaneously in Canada.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:

Colby, Ira C. (Ira Christopher)
Connecting social welfare policy to fields of practice / Ira C. Colby, Catherine N. Dulmus, Karen M. Sowers.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978-1-118-17700-6 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-118-43384-3 (ebk)
ISBN 978-1-118-42096-6 (ebk)
ISBN 978-1-118-41928-1 (ebk)
1. Public welfare–United States. 2. United States–Social policy. 3. Public health–United States. I. Dulmus, Catherine N.
II. Sowers, Karen M. (Karen Marlaine) III. Title.
HV95.C595 2013
361.973–dc23
2012027174

Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
 Contents

Preface xi

About the Editors xv

Contributors xvii

Chapter 1 Policy Practice 1

Rodney A. Ellis
Introduction 1
Policy Practice 2
Preparation of the Practitioner 6
Assembling a Team 8
Identification, Definition, and Legitimization
of the Problem 9
Selecting an Approach 11
Conducting an Analysis 12
Evaluating the Outcomes 18
Conclusion 19
Key Terms 19
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 19
Online Resources 19
References 20

Chapter 2 Social Welfare Policy and Politics 21

Richard Hoefer
Introduction 21
Defining Social Welfare Policy 22
Defining Politics 22
Politics as Ideologies: Across the Spectrum of Right and Left 23
Politics as Process: How to Have an Effect on Social Policy 31
Conclusion 33
Key Terms 33
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 34
Online Resources 34
References 34
v
 vi Contents

Chapter 3 New Federalism, New Freedom, and States’ Rights: The

Uncertain and Fragmented Direction of Public
Mental Health Policy in the United States 37
King Davis and Hyejin Jung
Introduction 37
The Epidemiology and Burden of Mental Illness 38
Unresolved Federalism in Mental Health Policy 43
States’ Rights and Control of Mental Health Policy 48
Federal Encroachment in State Mental Health Policy and
Services 52
The Declining Financial Health of State Governments: Implications
for the Future of State Mental Health Policy 64
Key Terms 70
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 70
Online Resources 71
References 71

Chapter 4 Aging in the United States: Challenges to Social Policy

and Policy Practice 81
Enid Opal Cox
Introduction 81
The Political/Moral Economy Context of Aging Societies 83
Changing Social Perceptions, Expectations, and Policies 85
Overview of Selected Policy and Services 93
Implications for Social Work Policy Practitioners 102
Key Terms 106
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 106
Online Resources 106
References 107

Chapter 5 Explanatory Legitimacy and Disjuncture: A

Multidimensional Model for Disability Policy
Development and Analysis 113
Stephen French Gilson and Elizabeth DePoy
Introduction 113
Explanatory Legitimacy Theory 114
Looking Back 117
Explanatory Legitimacy Theory Analysis of Policy Exemplars 123
Conclusions 130
Key Terms 131
 Contents vii

Review Questions for Critical Thinking 131

Online Resources 131
References 132

Chapter 6 Health Care Policy: Should Change Be Small

or Large? 135
Pamela J. Miller
Introduction 135
Needed Background 138
Policy Topics 142
Policies/Programs Worth Exploring 152
Concluding Remarks and Future Directions 154
Key Terms 155
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 155
Online Resources 155
References 155

Chapter 7 Social Determinants of Health: 21st-Century Social

Work Priorities 159
Gary Rosenberg
Introduction 159
Social Work at the End of the 19th Century 162
Social Work in the 20th Century 163
Conclusions 170
Key Terms 171
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 172
Online Resources 172
References 172

Chapter 8 Property for People or the Property of People:

Urban Housing Policy and Practice in the
Developing World 175
Sunil Kumar
Introduction 175
An Urban World— Why Fresh Thinking on Urban Housing Practice
and Policy in Less Developed Regions Matters 177
Planet of Slums — Why Poor Urban Housing Conditions Is Not All
That Matters 180
The Good and the Great— International Development
Organizations, Alliances, and Campaigns 181
viii Contents

Civil Society, Not-for-Profits, and Others of the Same Ilk, But With a
Different Perspective 185
Property for People or the Property of People: The Politics of
Tenure 190
Toward a Conclusion: The Challenge for Urban Housing Policy and
Practice Lies in Asking the Right Questions 193
In Conclusion: Property for People or the Property of People 197
Key Terms 198
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 198
Online Resources 199
Notes 199
References 200

Chapter 9 Child Welfare Policy 209

Richard J. Gelles and Carol Wilson Spigner
A Brief History of Child Welfare Policy in the United States 211
The Initial Involvement of the Federal Government 214
The Impact of the Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act of
1974 215
Foster Care Drift and the Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare Act
of 1980 219
The Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare Act of 1980 221
The Impact of the Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare
Act of 1980 222
The Indian Child Welfare Act of 1978 222
Applicable Supreme Court Rulings 223
Family Preservation and Family Support Act 224
The Multiethnic Placement Act of 1994 and the Interethnic Adoption
Provisions of the Small Business Job Protection Act 225
Reassessment of the Adoption Assistance and Child Welfare Act of
1980 and the Adoption and Safe Families Act of 1997 227
Foster Care Independence Act of 1999 229
Conclusion 231
Key Terms 232
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 232
Online Resources 233
Notes 234
References 234
 Contents ix

Chapter 10 Public Funding of Sectarian Organizations for the

Provision of HIV/AIDS Prevention and Care:
Discriminatory Issues for Gay Males 239
Christopher W. Blackwell and Sophia F. Dziegielewski
Introduction 239
Religious and Faith-Based Organizations Providing Social Services:
Charitable Choice 240
Implications for Further Research and Policy Development 247
Key Terms 248
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 248
Online Resources 248
References 248

Chapter 11 Social Welfare and Economics: Redefining the Welfare

State in a Global Economy 253
Howard Karger and Peter A. Kindle
Introduction 253
The Social Welfare State: A Legacy of the Industrial Era 255
The Postindustrial Economy 257
Employment in Postindustrial Society 258
Impoverishment and Debt in the Postindustrial Era 262
A New Welfare Agenda for the Global Economy 265
Conclusion 272
Key Terms 274
Review Questions for Critical Thinking 274
Online Resources 274
References 274

Author Index 277

Subject Index 283
 Preface

The provisions or benefits provided through public policies are at times

somewhat difficult to understand and reconcile. This is true for liberals and
conservatives alike. Conservatives typically note that welfare program ben-
efits are too liberal and encourage dependency; liberal commenters argue
that benefits are minimal at best. What is interesting to consider is when
two people, looking at the exact same data or pieces of information, are
drawn to different conclusions.
An interesting experiment is to take the following “facts” and survey
people asking if these cash benefits are too high, just right, or too low.
In 2011:
• The maximum SNAP (Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program)
benefit for a family of three was $526 monthly or approximately
$17 per day.
• The maximum SSI (Supplemental Security Insurance) benefit was
$674.
• The maximum Social Security Disability payment was $2,366.
• Unemployment benefits differ by state and in Texas, state law limits
unemployment benefit payments to less than $415 a week, though
due to the economic recession the benefit period was increased from
26 to 93 weeks.

You might also ask if the following program policies are too limiting,
appropriate, or too liberal.
In 2012:

• TANF (Temporary Assistance to Needy Families) continues to enforce

a lifetime limit of 5 years for benefit eligibility.
• In most jurisdictions, runaway, throwaway, or push-out youth (e.g.,
homeless youth without an adult caretaker) are not allowed to stay in
homeless shelters.
• In most areas, a teenager up to age 16, unless she or he has
parental consent, generally is not allowed to engage in mental health
counseling.
• It is common practice for “food banks” to limit the number of times
an individual or family may seek assistance.

xi
xii Preface

• Adults can post bail or bonds following an arrest; juveniles are not
able to post bail or bond.
• In many states, pleading guilty to a crime by reason of insanity is not
an option.

You will find diverse opinions from people looking at the same
information. Why? The answer is very simple—people’s accumulated life
experiences, their personal values, and their beliefs lead them to certain
conclusions.
The same holds true for elected officials, agency administrators, and
individuals who sit on boards of directors in the nonprofit organizations.
They create policy to address a specific problem or issue. Their assessment
of the issue and how they frame a policy is based on their own experiences,
personal values, and beliefs.
Social work practice is framed by these decisions. As employees in a
nonprofit or in a governmental agency, practitioners simply cannot do what-
ever they feel is appropriate in a worker/client, agency-based situation. In
effect, policies, generally crafted by others, limit the practitioners’s scope of
practice and the benefits/services that can be made available to the orga-
nization’s clients.
The role and importance of policy in social service organizations
results in two critical options or choices for social workers. First, the social
worker can remain passive and follow the particular policy or policies
even if the practitioner believes the policies are questionable at best.
Or, second, the social worker proactively engages in policy practice to
influence a particular policy. This text is organized in a manner that builds
on the second option. In addition, it is designed as a social welfare policy
practice text book for undergraduate and graduate students in social work
programs. The text provides a broad overview of social policy practice in
the United States and an introduction to policy practice within a global
context. The book addresses policy practice with specific populations
(disability, aging, persons with HIV-AIDS) and in specific practice arenas
(mental health, child welfare, health care, housing). This book addresses
the Council on Social Work Education (CSWE) required competencies
for accreditation. Specifically, the book addresses the following required
accreditation competencies:

• Educational Policy 2.1.1 —Identify as a professional social worker and

conduct oneself accordingly (advocate for client access to the services
of social work).
• Educational Policy 2.1.4 —Engage diversity and difference in practice.
• Educational Policy 2.1.5 —Advance human rights and social and eco-
nomic justice.
• Educational Policy 2.1.8 —Engage in policy practice (analyze, formu-
late, and advocate for policies that advance social well-being; collab-
orate with colleagues and clients for effective policy action).
 Preface xiii

• Educational Policy 2.1.9 —Respond to contexts that shape practice.

• Educational Policy 2.1.10 —Engage, assess, intervene, and evaluate
with organizations and communities.

The contributors to this text provide a variety of perspectives on

different topics including mental health, persons with disabilities, health,
housing, HIV/AIDS, and child welfare. Purposefully, many of the authors
introduce their topical areas through global lenses to help us better
understand how other nations address common issues. The authors also
take clear-cut positions; they do not hide from the reader their own beliefs
or perspectives.
Each chapter begins with a brief reflective overview in which the edi-
tors share their thoughts and poses general, overarching questions. The
editors encourage, actually expect readers to develop their own additional
questions. To be honest, the reader’s individual questions are much more
important and relevant to the individual. Questioning is a sound exercise
that facilitates critical thinking by building different scenarios. At the end
of each chapter, there is a set of suggested key words, online resources, and
additional discussion questions. Again, these are simply tools to encourage
you to build on the author’s particular thesis: to search through various
websites, do your own “data mining,” open yourself to diverse opinions,
form your own opinions, and propose policy solutions.
We firmly believe that social workers must be directly engaged in pol-
icy development. The social work profession can no longer afford those
who do not work with individuals, families, groups, and communities to
create policies. The time has arrived for the social work profession to sup-
port the crafting of just and fair public policies. Then and only then will our
communities be able to grow with all people realizing their full potential.
Our clients depend on the profession to fully engage in policy practice. To
do otherwise will only continue to further marginalize the poor and disen-
franchise certain ethnic and racial population groups.

Ira C. Colby
Catherine N. Dulmus
Karen M. Sowers
 About the Editors

Ira C. Colby, DSW, is dean of the Graduate College of Social Work, Univer-
sity of Houston, in Houston, Texas. Dr. Colby has served on, chaired, or held
elective positions in a number of national social work associations, includ-
ing past president of the Council on Social Work Education, and serves
on a number of journal editorial boards. Dr. Colby has served as princi-
pal investigator on many research projects, accumulating approximately $8
million in external funding; he has authored more than 60 publications
and presented more than 70 papers at national and international forums.
He has been recognized with a number of awards, including an Honorary
Doctorate of Humanics from Springfield College, his baccalaureate degree
institution; induction as a Fellow into the National Academies of Practice;
the Distinguished Alumni Award of the Virginia Commonwealth University,
and awarded Honorary Professorship, East China Technological University,
Shanghai.
Catherine N. Dulmus, PhD, LCSW, is associate professor, associate
dean for research, and director of the Buffalo Center for Social Research at
the University at Buffalo and research director at Hillside Family of Agen-
cies in Rochester, New York. She received her baccalaureate degree in Social
Work from Buffalo State College in 1989, a master’s degree in Social Work
from the University at Buffalo in 1991, and a doctoral degree in Social
Welfare from the University at Buffalo in 1999. As a researcher with inter-
ests that include community-based research, child and adolescent mental
health, evidence-based practice, and university –community partnerships,
Dr. Dulmus has focused on fostering interdependent collaborations among
practitioners, researchers, schools, and agencies critical in the advancement
and dissemination of new and meaningful knowledge. She has authored
or co-authored several journal articles and books and has presented her
research nationally and internationally. Prior to obtaining her PhD, she
acquired almost a decade of experience in the fields of mental health and
school social work.
Karen M. Sowers, PhD, is professor and dean of the College of Social
Work at the University of Tennessee, Knoxville. She is the University of Ten-
nessee Beaman Professor for Outstanding Research and Service. Dr. Sowers
received her baccalaureate degree in Sociology from the University of Cen-
tral Florida, and her master’s degree and PhD degree in social work from

xv
xvi About the Editors

Florida State University. Dr. Sowers serves on several local, national, and
international boards. Dr. Sowers is nationally known for her research and
scholarship in the areas of international practice; juvenile justice; child wel-
fare; cultural diversity; and culturally effective intervention strategies for
social work practice, evidence-based social work practice, and social work
education.
 Contributors

Christopher W. Blackwell, PhD, Richard J. Gelles, PhD

ARNP-C Pennsylvania School of Social Policy
College of Nursing and Practice
University of Central Florida University of Pennsylvania
Orlando, Florida Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

Enid Opal Cox, DSW Stephen French Gilson, MSW, PhD

Graduate School of Social Work School of Social Work
University of Denver University of Maine
Denver, Colorado Orono, Maine

King Davis, PhD Richard Hoefer, PhD

School of Social Work School of Social Work
University of Texas —Austin University of Texas —Austin
Austin, Texas Austin, Texas

Elizabeth DePoy, MSW, PhD Hyejin Jung, MSW

Center for Community Inclusion School of Social Work
and Disability Studies University of Texas —Austin
University of Maine Austin, Texas
Orono, Maine
Howard Karger, PhD
Sophia F. Dziegielewski, PhD, LISW School of Social Work and
Applied Human Sciences
School of Social Work
University of Queensland
University of Central Florida
Brisbane, Australia
Orlando, Florida
Peter A. Kindle, MSW
Rodney A. Ellis, PhD, CMSW School of Health Sciences: Social Work,
College of Social Work Health Affairs
University of Tennessee—Nashville University of South Dakota
Nashville, Tennessee Vermillion, South Dakota

xvii
xviii Contributors

Sunil Kumar, PhD Gary Rosenberg, PhD

Department of Social Policy Department of Community and
London School of Economics and Preventative Medicine
Political Science Mount Sinai School of Medicine
London, United Kingdom New York, New York

Pamela J. Miller, MSW, PhD Carol Wilson Spigner, PhD

School of Social Work Pennsylvania School of Social Policy and Practice
Portland State University University of Pennsylvania
Portland, Oregon Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Another random document with
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 “Not guilty, ma’am! Listen to me now. Stewart it is that’s sweet
on Miss Lucy, and I playing gooseberry for them time and time
again. So there!”
“Well, go on with you. What about yourself?”
“You’ll break my heart laughing at me.” But Eveleen read in the
tone that Brian was at least as eager to confess as she was to hear.
“You know I won’t. Tell me, now. It can’t be Sally?”
“Sally it is. Sally’s the girl for my money.”
“But she’s nothing but a little bit of a child yet. Is it thirteen she
is—or fourteen?”
“How’d I know—or care? That child is as old—as ancient. ‘My
wise little Sally,’ her papa calls her, and she turns the stubborn old
ruffian round her finger as easy as winkin’. And to hear her lecture
your brother, my dear creature you’d think she was her own
grandmother! Give her a year or two, and I’ll marry her without so
much as a ‘by your leave!’ even if General is G.-G. by that time!”
“Perhaps she won’t have you, my dear fellow.”
“Then it’s a bachelor I’ll be all my born days. Do you take me,
ma’am? It’s a case! What in the world’s that?”
“That” was a nightcapped head—the body presumably attached
thereto remaining discreetly out of sight—which appeared at a
doorway. “Three-quarters of an hour!” said a sepulchral voice. “And
Mrs Ambrose still an invalid. Mr Delany, will you be so good as to
return to your quarters, and let your sister go to bed?”
“I will, ma’am, I will!” Brian winked largely at Eveleen. “I’m a
sad fellow to have brought you here to turn me out, but ask my
sister if all I’ve told her ain’t worth it.”
“Begone, graceless wretch!” Eveleen was quoting from the
melodrama—miscalled historical—recently staged by the Bab-us-
Sahel Dramatic Club, and Brian, recognising the style common to
melodrama, answered in the same vein.
“Cruel but virtuous dame, at thy command I go!” and went.

The few days which covered Sir Henry Lennox’s sojourn at Bab-
us-Sahel were well filled. He saw the outbreak of cholera stamped
out, he reviewed the troops, he set on foot plans for improving the
landing conditions, providing a water-supply, and laying out large
vegetable gardens, with a view to preventing the scurvy from which
the garrison suffered. For the present a ration of lime-juice was to
be served out, but it was clear, from the arrangements made for the
future, that the town was to remain in British hands, and knowing
people opined once more that Sir Harry’s visit was to end in the
annexation of Khemistan. This did not appear to be his own opinion,
however. He was come, he said quite frankly, to make the Khans
keep their treaties—with such modification as might seem called for.
He had not come to fight, and he did not for a moment believe that
the Khans would provoke a rupture, but he was quite certain he was
going to put an end to the anomalous condition of things that had
obtained hitherto. It was in his mind, also, that the large British
force at Sahar—far up the river—must be badly in need of inspection
by a competent authority, and this need it was his purpose to supply.
The requirements of Bab-us-Sahel having therefore been observed,
noted and pigeon-holed at lightning speed, the General set out on
his way up the river. To the relief of Richard Ambrose, who had been
rather inclined to fear, from the tone of his references to the Khans,
that his mode of dealing with them would be to knock their heads
together and bid them listen to reason, Sir Harry consented to pay a
visit of ceremony to Qadirabad in the course of his journey. Thus it
was only natural that he should offer the Ambroses a passage in his
steamer, since the Khans might well feel alarmed if he was not
accompanied by any representative of their friend Colonel Bayard,
and Eveleen and her husband returned up the river in state.
Unfortunately, the added grandeur did nothing to mitigate the
inconveniences of the voyage, but the General himself was so
absolutely unconscious of these that no one else durst refer to them.
Eveleen had her tent on deck as before, and having once made
certain that such comfort as was possible was secured to her, Sir
Harry dismissed the subject from his mind. If they had only been
privates, the officers on board confided ruefully to one another, the
General would have thought no pains too much to make them
comfortable, but the higher ranks were expected to be content with
the meagre accommodation that sufficed for himself. To the honour
of his staff be it said that they loved him too much to grumble at
hardships shared with him, and it must be confessed that no one
who did not love him could have remained in his family for a week.
Eveleen studied him appreciatively day by day, but from a point
of view other than that of the quaint companionship of
Mahabuleshwar. Half unconsciously, she had acquired something of
the Anglo-Indian attitude of mind in her sojourn up the country, and
it helped her to understand the alarm and dislike with which he was
viewed by old Indians generally. It was perfectly true that he knew
nothing of India, and prided himself on the fact, which in some
curious way he had brought himself to regard as a merit. In fact,
ignorance of India seemed to him an essential qualification for
dealing successfully with Indian affairs—a conviction shared with him
by many less simple-hearted egoists both before and since.
Curiously enough, he was always on the watch to pick up
information about things Indian—historical, geological, agricultural,
linguistic,—but the information must be surprised and as it were
snatched from the people who knew, at moments when they were
off their guard. Not only did he keep his eyes open, but he was not
too proud to confess he had been mistaken. The little book on the
Campaigns of Alexander, to which Brian had alluded, was his
constant companion, and he had succeeded to his own complete
satisfaction in reconstructing the itinerary of the Greek forces, and
identifying the various places mentioned with existing towns. But the
whole scheme collapsed under the shock of the discovery that the
river was wont to change its course from year to year—sometimes
from month to month—and that it would be unreasonable to expect
to find a town where it had stood a century ago, much more two
thousand years. This was a severe blow, and for a day or two the
little book was less in evidence. Brian and Eveleen asked one
another wickedly whether the report on the condition of Khemistan
—which Sir Harry was compiling at alarming length—would likewise
prove to be founded on imagination rather than knowledge of the
country, but by degrees they began to perceive a method in the little
man’s madness, and to watch for the lightning questions by means
of which he would inform himself.
 The fame of the General had reached Qadirabad before him,
and the anxiety of the Khans to produce a good impression was
shown by their assiduity in offering him a welcome. A high official
was deputed to meet the steamer before it came in sight of the city,
and the river bank was studded with bearers of enormous trays of
sweetmeats, so many from each Khan. At the Residency other
officials were waiting, with more sweetmeats and a polite offering of
ten fat sheep, and it was clear to Richard and his colleagues of the
Agency that the rulers were both puzzled and nervous. Here was an
abrupt little man of terrible aspect, reputed to be the most ferocious
fighter Europe could produce, and a disciple—if not a relative—of the
world-famous Wellington. He was armed with vague powers—all that
was known was that they were greater than those of any General
who had hitherto visited the country,—but how he meant to use
them no one could say. It was not even known whether he and the
Resident Sahib were friends or enemies—bitterly did the Khans
regret that the two men had not met, that sharp eyes unseen might
have observed and reported their demeanour—nor whether the
Resident was still in authority or not. The one obvious thing seemed
to be to make sure of the favour of the alarming Unknown, and the
obvious way of doing it was to show him every possible honour. A
scarlet palanquin of state, with green velvet cushions, was sent to
convey him to the Fort, his staff and that of the Agency following on
richly-caparisoned camels. Besides his own escort of fifty Khemistan
Horse, he had a guard of honour of Arabit Sardars and their
retainers, and at the city gate the younger Khans—each in his
palanquin—met him and escorted him in. Curious crowds fought for
a sight of him and acclaimed him enthusiastically, and as he
mounted the rise to the gateway of the Fort every one salamed to
the ground. Khemistan was doing its best to conciliate the intruder.
“And how did he get on with them at all?” asked Eveleen
eagerly of her husband, when the procession had returned, and he
was thankfully divesting himself of the trappings of full dress.
“So-so. He meant to be all that was charming, but he hasn’t a
notion how to take ’em, and they don’t know what to make of him.
He looks upon ’em as a set of children, because they would have his
spectacles passed round for ’em all to try on, and that’s how he talks
to ’em. Of course the Munshi put all he said into proper form, but
they judge by the tone much more than the words. That dry hard
way he has of barking things out was what impressed ’em, I could
see, though he was trying his utmost to put them at their ease. They
don’t like him, and they’re precious frightened of him—that’s about
it, I should say.”
“If only the Colonel had been here, now!” sighed Eveleen.
Richard looked at her queerly.
“What good would that have done? He couldn’t have shortened
this man’s huge beak, or got him to go about without spectacles—
which frighten them because they think his eyes are so savage that
he wears ’em to deaden the expression,—or made him speak soft
and slow. It ain’t in the old chap, and he don’t know enough about
India to try and cultivate it if he hasn’t got it. And they know well
enough that he’s been sent here over Bayard’s head—the only thing
they can’t make out yet is whether they’re in it together or not.”
If Sir Harry were aware of the alarming impression he had
produced, he showed no sign of it, but continued his journey up the
river the next day, leaving with Richard the letter which was to call
the Khans’ attention to the breaches of treaty of which they had
been guilty, and the advisability of mending their ways forthwith. At
Sahar he was to be met by Colonel Bayard, who had been enjoying
himself vastly—free from the responsibility and respectability of the
Agency—in his mission to the wild country on the Ethiopian border.
He had made long journeys on camel-back in disguise, provided for
the safety and sustenance of the British force retiring from
Iskandarbagh, settled various outstanding matters in connection
with the small state of Nalapur—and incidentally embroiled himself
with the Governor-General, who was a bad person to quarrel with.
The occasion was the affairs of Nalapur. Not only did Lord Maryport
consider Colonel Bayard had exceeded his powers in reorganising
the government—that was merely presumption,—but he accused
him of deluding the durbar deliberately by laying claim to powers he
knew he did not possess, and then indeed Colonel Bayard was
touched in his tenderest point. An acrimonious correspondence was
in progress, of which he assured himself happily that he had so far
carried off all the honours; but the drawback in quarrelling with
authority is that authority is always in a position to have the last
word—and that word had not yet been spoken. Both Colonel Bayard
and his friends—to whom he read or repeated what he considered
the most telling portions of his letters—forgot this, and when the
news came that Sir Harry Lennox and he had taken a fancy to one
another at first sight, and were working together in the most
amicable way, the Political Establishment in Khemistan forgot its
fears, and settled down contentedly in the conviction that, after all,
things were going on much in the old way.
The Khans also were hugging this amiable delusion to their
souls. Richard was kept busy with visiting them and receiving their
Vakils, now delivering the papers sent to him from Sahar for the
purpose, and then transmitting the answers. Knowing Colonel
Bayard to be their friend—though without feeling it necessary to
requite his friendship otherwise than in word,—they were quite
happy since he still remained in the country, and bent all their
energies, which were small, and their ingenuity, which was infinite,
to the task of enabling him on their behalf to hoodwink the intruder.
With the aid of a judicious rattling together of shields and tulwars—
to give the hint of unpleasant possibilities in the background if things
were pressed to extremities—they looked forward to tiding over this
crisis as they had done others. Richard was a good deal worried by
their attitude. He could not bring them to realise that they had a
second person—and a very different one—to deal with now, and
whenever he tried it they replied with the warlike demonstrations
intended especially for the General’s benefit. It was quite certain that
there was an unusual amount of coming and going about the Fort.
Fresh bands of Arabit horsemen seemed to be arriving continually,
and while some of them departed again, others remained. Moreover,
Richard doubted very much whether those who went away returned
to Arabitistan. From the reports brought him by his spies, he
believed that they were reinforcements for the garrisons of the
desert fortresses of which the Khans boasted as unreachable and
impregnable, and from which Sahar itself might be assailed in case
of need. He could only pass on his observations to Sir Harry, and try
to convince the Khans of the seriousness of the situation, while
doing his utmost to bring them to reason by peaceful means.
Eveleen had returned from Bab-us-Sahel full of good
resolutions, determined to take Mrs Gibbons as her model from
henceforth. She would never want to ride at unorthodox hours—
virtue was assisted in this respect by the heat,—and she would
benefit society by starting a farmyard and kitchen-garden.
Unfortunately for her good intentions, Qadirabad was a very
different place from Bab-us-Sahel, since mutton, poultry, and
vegetables were all easy to get. She relinquished with a sigh the
idea of a sheep-farm and chicken-run, but a garden she would have,
and achieved—with the aid of the Residency mali and his underlings
—success of a sort. The mali had an unfair advantage in the
perpetual contests waged between them, since he knew his own
mind and did not change it from day to day, while Eveleen’s
continual visions of newer and better arrangements led to weird
apparitions of onions in the flower-beds and violets among the
lettuces. Happily the mali was able, with conscious rectitude, to
show that he had a proper supply of vegetables coming on in
regions to which the Beebee had not penetrated, and instead of
starving the Agency staff, Eveleen escaped with a good deal of
teasing on her peculiar horticultural tastes. But those who had
planted the garden were not destined to eat its fruits.
“Sure there’s a steamer coming down the river!” Running out on
the verandah dressed for the evening ride, Eveleen stood still to
listen. “Ambrose, d’ye hear?”
“A steamer to-day? Nonsense!” cried Richard, joining her hastily.
“No, by Jove, it is!”
“What will it be, I wonder?” in much excitement. “Oh, send the
horses back, and let us go down to the strand.”
Other people joined them as they neared the path down the low
cliff on which the Residency stood, and waited on the landing-stage.
The Asteroid came round the bend with the light of the setting sun
full on her.
 “Well, now; if it’s not the Resident!” cried Eveleen, as a figure
on the paddle-box took off his hat and waved it to the group in the
shadows. “He must be invalided. See how ill he looks!”
“As if you could tell at this distance!” said Richard, in his
superior way; but as the steamer drew round to the landing-stage,
he had to acknowledge that Colonel Bayard did look very ill.
“That attack of fever we heard of will likely have been worse
than we knew. He must go to bed at once.” Eveleen spoke with all
the determination of Mrs Gibbons herself, and Colonel Bayard,
hurrying to shake hands with them as soon as he set foot on shore,
heard her.
“What have I done, Mrs Ambrose, that I am to be sent to bed
like a naughty child? I know there are plenty of people who have the
worst possible opinion of me, but I didn’t expect to find them here.”
“Sure it’s for your own sake,” she said seriously. “You don’t look
fit to be up.”
“Morally I may not be, but physically I assure you I am. But I
have had a heavy time this hot weather, and no doubt it’s told upon
me. And I have had a bit of a blow just lately.”
“Ah!” said Richard quickly.
“Yes—to make a long story short, I am remanded to my
regiment.”
They stopped in climbing the path, and looked at him
incredulously. Colonel Bayard, the prince of Politicals, deprived of his
acting rank and sent back to do duty with native infantry! The man
who had ruled kingdoms and dispensed lakhs was to return to a
despised calling and its scanty pay. He read their horrified
amazement in their eyes, and raised his hand brusquely.
“No, don’t pity me too much; keep a little for yourselves. I wish
I were the only person affected, but the fact is—the Political
Establishment is dissolved.”
“Dissolved?” echoed Richard hoarsely.
“Destroyed, broken up, cast aside, kicked out. By the fiat of my
Lord Maryport, without the ghost of a reason given.”
“Lennox!” the word sounded like a curse. Colonel Bayard saw
Eveleen’s mute gesture of protest, and smiled at her.
 “No, Mrs Ambrose, you are right. Old Harry had nothing to do
with it—was as much taken aback as I was. He told me frankly he
had been on the point of writing to recommend the reduction of the
Agency, but certainly not its abolition. Like all those bustling
energetic people just out from home, he thinks we do nothing for
our money. Let him wait till he has had two or three hot weathers in
Khemistan! At any rate, his view of it is that we spend our time
drinking beer and smoking cheroots”—with a rather conscious laugh,
for his friends would hardly have recognised him without a fat cigar
in his mouth,—“and occasionally signing the papers our black clerks
bring us, and he is going to work without any clerks at all. You will
be the victim of his economy, Richard. Even he acknowledges that
he must have some sort of political officer to consult when he’s quite
out of his depth, so I put in a word for you.”
“As though I would stay here a day without you!”
“My dear fellow, you must. You are married, you have your wife
here——” he smiled again at Eveleen as she looked back at him from
the verandah steps with brimming eyes. “You can’t take her back to
your regiment. The life would kill her. It ain’t as if she were a young
girl,” he added in a whisper before he followed.
“True; she ain’t a young girl.” The tone was savage, but Richard
knew his friend was right. A girl who knew India, brought up by a
managing mother accustomed to Indian ways, might have faced the
life which had been his for so many painful years; but Eveleen,
knowing as little of the country as she did of method and
contrivance—what would there be before her but a miserable
struggle ending in ruined health and spirits for both? He was not
free to cut loose from Khemistan.
“So you must swallow the bitter pill, you see,” Colonel Bayard
was saying as they mounted the steps, “and do what you can for my
poor Khans from a distance. By the bye, I didn’t tell you that—this
place is to be closed for the present; you are to go up to Sahar. I
shall have to break it all to them to-morrow. I couldn’t go down the
river without bidding ’em farewell, but it will be one of the hardest
things I have ever done.”
 CHAPTER VIII.
TOO CLEVER BY HALF.

“For the last time!” said Colonel Bayard, with a comical glance of
self-pity at Richard, as they rode out the next morning preceded by
the chobdars with their silver sticks and followed by the barbaric
escort.
“Not a bit of it! You’ll never be left mud-crawling with a black
regiment. The G.-G. will find out his mistake in no time, and send for
you back.”
“It would take a good deal to make him do that. I was promised
the Agency for the down-river states when he sent Lennox here, but
there’s no word of it now. Don’t look so shockingly cut up, Richard. I
tell you it’s a release from bondage for me, after the lacquey way I
have been treated this summer by his lordship—bandied about like a
racquet-ball! Old Lennox would have kept me on as his personal
assistant—doing the deed first and getting permission afterwards—if
I would have stayed; but I asked for furlough instead, and he put
the Asteroid at my disposal to take me down the river in the
handsomest way. A singular character, that old chap, but a thorough
good fellow.”
“I hear he spoke very properly of you at the dinner they gave
you before starting.”
“Properly? Nay, I assure you I didn’t know where to look. I
might have been Scipio Africanus and Sir Philip Sidney rolled into
one, instead of a failed Political going back to his regiment a poorer
man than when he left it twenty years ago. By the bye, I don’t know
whether I am in order in taking the sowari [retinue] with me to-day.
Merely a private individual now, I suppose.”
“Not till you have left Khemistan, surely! If Sir Henry’s attitude is
as generous as you say, he couldn’t grudge you the ordinary marks
of respect.”
 “Ay, but to him they ain’t ordinary, and he means to put an end
to ’em. He has no chobdars himself, and he’s going to abolish these.
An escort he can tolerate—but only on state occasions, of course—
because it can follow him at a gallop, but fellows walking in front of
him and making him ride slow—never!”
“How does he ever expect to impress these people?” said
Richard bitterly. “They won’t have an atom of respect for him.”
“Oh, you should hear him on the subject. He thinks we can’t
compete with the Indians in matters of show and state, so he won’t
try. They will be more impressed by seeing we can do without every
single thing they care about, so he says. And I’m bound to say he
lives up to his theories. I thought so when I dined with him—
privately, I mean; not the burra khana—and found everything camp-
fashion. The plates and dishes and so on came out of his canteens—
he takes a couple about with him so as to be able to give dinner-
parties, he told me—and what d’ye think was the principal thing on
the table? Why, pork chops and common bazar stuff at that—and the
old chap tucking into them with real gusto and pressing ’em on me!”
“Well, if he can survive that sort of thing, he ought certainly to
impress the Khans,” said Richard drily. “But it’s a pity he don’t stay
here under their eye, for they ain’t impressed a bit at present.”
But in this he was wrong, as appeared speedily. Due notice had
been sent to the Fort of Colonel Bayard’s desire to pay a farewell
visit to their Highnesses, and the proper message of welcome
received in return. But the message was couched in terms more
flowery and formal than quite suited the intimate relations which had
prevailed between the Resident and his charges, and there was no
sign on the road of the messengers who should have met the
procession at stated points and implored the visitor to hasten, since
he alone could pour the snow-cooled sherbet of delight into the
parched mouth of expectation. The reason for this lapse from good
manners appeared on the visitors’ arrival at the Fort, for it seemed
that a sudden illness had prostrated the ruling family at one blow.
One Khan after another for whom Colonel Bayard enquired was
declared to be sick, the attendants adding intimate and distressing
details on a scale that did credit to their memories—or possibly their
imaginations.
“Oh, let them alone!” said Richard, in a hasty whisper. “They
funk meeting you.”
“But why should they funk meeting me? Nay”—to the
embarrassed attendants,—“if their Highnesses are indeed so ill, I
must postpone my journey, for I could not dream of leaving
Khemistan while those who have been to me as sons are lying
between life and death. I will send my own physician to visit them,
and I myself will spend each day at the Palace, that I may be at
hand the moment they call for me.”
Hurried consultations ensued, messengers came and went, and
at last the chief spokesman advanced again. “Let the Resident Sahib
be pleased to enter. Rather than force him to delay his departure,
and incur the wrath of his lord the General Sahib”—Colonel Bayard
stiffened perceptibly,—“their Highnesses will bedew the blossoms of
affection with the tears of regret even at the risk of their health.”
He paused for a moment to see whether the visitor would take
the hint, then sighed and led the way in. Apparently the Khans
thought it safer to receive their fallen friend in a body, for the official
disregarded Colonel Bayard’s request to be allowed to pay his
respects to them separately, which would have seemed more
natural. If they did not appear to be sick, at any rate they all looked
very sorry for themselves when he and his assistant faced at last the
row of seated figures on their cushions. Long wadded coats
concealed their pleated muslin tunics and wide silk trousers, and the
only touch of brightness was given by the gay kincob which covered
their flowerpot-shaped caps. As politeness demanded, one and all
declared that the mere sight of the fortunate face of the Resident
Sahib had instantly banished all traces of illness, and then hurried on
to enquire whether he also was well and prosperous. The formalities
of salutation, perfunctory though they might be, took some time
when each Khan had to be addressed and to reply separately, and it
was beginning to look as though the whole interview would be
occupied with such matters, when Sir Henry Lennox’s health and
prosperity came under discussion as well. The example was set by
Gul Ali Khan, the venerable white-bearded head of the family, whose
memory went back to the days of conquest, when the wild band of
Arabit chieftains had swooped down from their fastnesses upon
Khemistan, and dispossessing the native rulers, reigned in their
stead. He was the last survivor of the conquerors, and wore with
dignity the turban which proclaimed him Chief of his house—the
coveted emblem which would not descend to the son for whom he
would fain have secured it, but to an interloper, the son of his
father’s old age. This interloper, Shahbaz Khan, a handsome dapper
man—absurdly young-looking to be the brother of the aged Gul Ali—
sat beside him, and took up the strain of affectionate enquiry. For
the Khans positively overflowed with anxiety for the General’s health,
and their enquiries were couched in such terms of affection that
even Colonel Bayard—loath as he was to believe it—could not
mistake their drift. His day was over and done with; Sir Henry
Lennox was the rising sun.
It was a bitter pill, but Colonel Bayard would not have been
himself had he not done his best to take advantage of this new
loyalty to influence his faithless charges for their good. When all the
questions all the Khans could think of on Sir Henry’s affairs had been
asked and answered, and before they could start on those of the
Governor-General, he interposed a courteous hope that their
admiration for the General’s character would make it easy for them
to satisfy him on the subject of the breaches of treaty. Instantly a
change that might be felt passed over them, as though each face
had withdrawn itself behind a veil. Gul Ali answered with dignity—
“The Resident Sahib need not fear. The treaties we have made
we shall keep, provided the English keep theirs.”
This did not sound very hopeful to the man who had been trying
in vain for so long to get them to keep those very treaties, but
Colonel Bayard answered politely—
“Of that your Highnesses need have no fear while matters are in
the hands of the General. I rejoice to be able to leave Khemistan
with all difficulties so happily arranged.”
Gul Ali’s expression was a little fatuous, as he said like an
automaton, “The treaties we have made we shall keep, but we will
sign no new treaty.”
Since it was known to Colonel Bayard that Lord Maryport
intended to impose new and stricter obligations on the Khans, owing
to their persistent breaches of former treaties, he did not feel able to
say more than—“It is not for me to anticipate what the General may
have to say to your Highnesses, but if the old treaties are kept there
will certainly be no need for a new one.”
Khair Husain Khan, a clever-looking man with rather Jewish
features, interposed. “The English pledged themselves not to
interfere in any way with our rights over our own subjects. To that
we hold!” triumphantly.
“Yet is it well for your Highnesses so to treat your subjects that
they flee to the protection of the English?”
“If they do, we will have them back!” put in young Kamal-ud-din
arrogantly. “Yes, even if they have to be torn from the hem of the
General Sahib’s skirts!”
This, or something like it, was the Khans’ latest exploit, since
their officials had invaded the boundaries of the Sahar Cantonment,
and dragged away a number of unfortunates who had sought refuge
there from their oppressors. But it seemed to be recognised that this
was going rather far, for Khair Husain said hastily, with a soothing
wave of the hand—
“The wretches had failed to pay their taxes, as the Resident
Sahib knows. If they were allowed to escape, all Khemistan would
seek an asylum with the British.”
“But why did they fail to pay?” asked Colonel Bayard boldly.
“Was it not because it was known they had amassed riches, and
their taxes were so much increased as to strip them of all?”
Gul Ali laughed complacently. “True—quite true. It is not well for
subjects to grow rich, for they become troublesome. If they heap up
wealth, it must be for their masters.”
“Since this is the last time I shall see the face of your
Highnesses, let me beg once more that you will look at this matter
differently. It is all of a piece with your imposing tolls designed to kill
the traffic on the river. A wealthy people is an honour and a strong
support to princes, and the making of money by honest means
should be encouraged, not hindered.” The black looks bent on
Colonel Bayard made him pause, and he added, with some emotion,
“Your Highnesses will not hear me, I see. But let me entreat you to
listen to the General, though his tongue be strange, and he neglect
the forms of ceremony I have always been careful to use. Should he
propose an interview, speak to him plainly of what is in your hearts.
He will do this in any case, for it is not his custom to disguise his
meaning.”
Gul Ali rode off hastily upon a side-issue. “It is not well to meet
the envoys of the Farangis in consultation nowadays,” he said.
“There was a certain Ethiopian Sardar who did so.”
The taunt was a bitter one—and worse, deserved,—for at the
outset of the Ethiopian disasters the British Envoy, struggling
desperately in the toils cast about him, had stooped to invite the
foremost of his assailants to a conference, with the intention of
making him a prisoner. In the remotest corners of Asia stray
Englishmen were to rue the attempt for many a day, though the
Envoy had paid with his life for trying to use the weapons of men
better acquainted with them than he. But it had been cast in Colonel
Bayard’s teeth before, and he met it with a bold counter-attack.
“True, Khan Sahib, and it was not the Sardar who suffered. Had
the treachery been his, would it have surprised you?”
“Nay, but it was the Elchi Sahib’s!” came in chorus.
“And he paid the penalty. But has such treachery never been
known in Khemistan?”
“Never on the part of a Farangi!” promptly.
“I thank your Highnesses in the name of my country. Has it ever
been known of any Farangi anywhere?”
“Never until now. But what one Farangi has done, another may
do.”
“I think not. The Elchi’s deed has been condemned by every
Farangi who heard of it. I know of none who would imitate it—least
of all the General.”
“He had better not!” cried Kamal-ud-din rudely. “He comes to
Khemistan with a few hundred white soldiers, who are even now
dying fast of sicknesses great and small, while our armies are
numbered by thousands, and they are growing every day. Should he
seek to defy or betray us, death such as the Elchi met with will be
the least thing he has to fear.”
Astonished and displeased, Colonel Bayard made as if to rise
from his chair. “I must ask leave of your Highnesses to retire——” he
was beginning, but Shahbaz Khan interposed hastily.
“Nay, this is shameful talk! O my brother, is it to go forth to the
world that the Khans of Khemistan permitted such things to be said
in their hearing concerning their father and protector, the Bahadar
Jang?”
“Nay, nay!” said Gul Ali timorously. “Youth speaks with the
tongue of youth, which is headstrong and foolish. The General Sahib
will know how to regard the folly.”
The mildness of the rebuke gave Kamal-ud-din fresh courage.
“The General Sahib has nothing to fear if he comes to us in peace
and openness of mind,” he said sullenly, “But who is he that we must
guard our tongues when speaking of his greatness? He may call
himself Bahadar Jang” [valiant in fight]—this was one of the polite
epithets employed by the Khans in his interview with them which Sir
Harry, who was not a conspicuously modest man, save in the
presence of the fair sex or the Duke of Wellington, had accepted
with some complacency as merely appropriate,—“but in all his years
of warfare he has not taken spoil enough to put a single diamond in
his sword-hilt!”
“Farangi Generals don’t go to war for the sake of loot,” said
Colonel Bayard. “Any spoil the General Sahib might take he would
present to his and my august mistress, the Queen of England.” He
turned slightly to bow towards the large engraving of the young
Queen which hung crookedly on the wall—suggesting that it had
been put there hurriedly when the interview was found inevitable—
very sleek of hair, very lofty of brow, sweetly simpering as to
expression, and obviously overburdened with a headgear recalling
the mural crown of antiquity. Richard followed his example, and the
Khans salamed perfunctorily. The words seemed to have given them
a new idea.
 “Then the rulers of Farangistan also do not like their subjects to
be too rich,” chuckled Gul Ali.
“To strip a conqueror of his booty is poor policy,” said Kamal-ud-
din with a fine air of detachment. “My Sardars will always be allowed
to keep what they win.”
“Lest, being robbed of their due by their own master, they
should seek it at the hands of his enemies,” said his cousin
Karimdâd, going a step further. The prudent Khair Husain pulled
them up hastily.
 “Nay, nay; what foolish talk is this? Did not the General Sahib
refuse at our hands the great gift we offered him, though the Lât
Sahibs who visited us before accepted a lesser one?”
This was another of Colonel Bayard’s troubles—the simplicity
with which two Generals fresh from home had accepted the large
sums of money ceremonially offered them on their way up the river
towards Ethiopia. Apparently no one who knew the interpretation
that would be placed upon their action had liked to warn them of it,
with the result that the two wholly innocent soldiers were regarded
by the Khans as their pensioners for the future. He took refuge in
sententious generalities.
“It was taught me in my youth that the richest man is he who
has fewest wants. May we not then say that the enemy most to be
dreaded is the man who needs nothing for himself?”
For once the Khans appeared impressed, and before the effect
could wear off he asked permission to depart, leaving them to digest
his words. Each and all overwhelmed him with demands that he
would assure the General of their affectionate interest in his welfare,
and thus reminded afresh of his own eclipse, he escaped at last. It
was in one way a relief to be offered no more substantial parting
gifts than the wreaths of strongly-scented yellow flowers with which
he and Richard were invested with due ceremony, but there was a
sting in the omission. A robe of honour and a jewelled sword would
not have cost the Khans much—even if he had kept them, like the
Generals, instead of refusing them.
“Queer set of chaps those,” growled Richard, as they rode away
decorated with their floral boas. “Every time I see ’em I feel it more
strongly.”
“I fear they are hopeless,” responded Colonel Bayard, with
unusual depression. “If they won’t take Lennox seriously, they’re
done for. He ain’t going to stand any nonsense.”
“Is the country to be annexed, then?”
“I believe not. But he is very strong on getting rid of the family’s
collective authority, and setting up a single Khan with full
responsibility. And that will mean the end of all things to the rest.”
“But very good for Khemistan, and our relations with it.”
 “True. You look at the matter in a common-sense light, but it’s a
positive pain to me to think of the extinction of this benevolent
patriarchal rule.”
Richard wondered a little at his leader’s idea of benevolence,
but still sought to comfort him. “Perhaps they’ll all refuse to accept
the change.”
“You say that, knowing how sadly ready they always are to
intrigue against one another? D’ye know that Khair Husain sent to
the General secretly the one night he was here, to try to curry favour
with him?”
“No, indeed. Khair Husain? But he ain’t in the running for the
succession, even.”
“He meant to be. He offered to declare for us if we would make
him Chief Khan and back him up against the rest. The spies should
have told you. Not that there’s anything to complain of in old Harry’s
action in the matter. He told the Vakil that he couldn’t deal with
Khair Husain unless he spoke in the name of the rest—which of
course he couldn’t. Then the fellow was idiot enough to say that if
he appeared to take part against us, we were kindly to understand
his heart was in the right place nevertheless, to which the General
simply replied that he wasn’t going to help him to deceive the other
Khans. If he wanted to take our side, he must come out and do it
openly. Exit the Vakil highly disgusted.”
“Serve the rascal right! But we shall have plenty of that sort of
thing if Sir Harry presses ’em hard.”
“I believe you—particularly if it occurs to Gul Ali to try to square
him in the matter of the succession. Has the old man been trying
any fresh tricks to get the turban for Karimdâd, d’ye know?”
“Oh, he’s always at it—trying to make a party in his favour
among the other Khans, and he has been uncommonly busy lately.”
“I thought so—from the extra special affection in Shahbaz
Khan’s manner to him. That chap is a deep one.”
“Shahbaz Khan? I suppose so. But after all, he is the rightful
heir, and he has to sit by and look on while his brother tries to steal
his inheritance away. Gul Ali has a good deal to offer, and poor
Shahbaz can only give promises at present. You haven’t turned
against him, have you?”
“I? No, certainly not. But I have always a weak spot for Gul Ali,
and to see Shahbaz fawning upon him——”
“But what can the fellow do? There’s no open war. He can only
keep the peace—and keep his eyes open. They’re a nice set—all the
lot of ’em. I dare be bound Kamal-ud-din’s the only one that
wouldn’t sell the rest to the General for the promise of the turban,
and that’s because he don’t care about it. So long as he has
Umarganj to retire to, and a caravan to plunder now and then, he’s
happy.”
“He seemed precious full of fight, I noticed. What’s that new
decoration he sports so conspicuously? They can hardly have got
back that Luck—what was it called?—which was stolen years ago.”
“I’m afraid they have—and I’m afraid it’s my fault.” Richard told
the story of the Seal of Solomon, and Colonel Bayard laughed.
“Well, I don’t suppose it will make much difference, though they
may think it will. Mrs Ambrose is the only sufferer so far, it seems to
me.”
“I was going to ask you if you would get me something in the
way of jewellery in Bombay—to give her. Fact is, I’m in a precious
awkward position. I think I told you she had spent a lot of money in
paying the debts of that brother of hers—the General’s A.D.C.? Well,
if you’ll believe me, the fellow’s begun to pay it back!”
“You couldn’t well sound more disgusted if he had begun
borrowing afresh! But I see your difficulty. You feel bound to lay it
out on something for her personal use? By all means—I quite agree
with you. Give me some idea what you want, and I shall be
honoured with the commission.” He glanced across approvingly at
the younger man. He had not looked for such delicacy of feeling
from Richard Ambrose, who might have been expected to welcome
the return of the money too eagerly to think of the circumstances,
and he stretched out a hand and laid it kindly on his shoulder. “You
feel you ought not to have brought your wife to Khemistan? But
cheer up, my dear fellow! Her health and spirits have stood it
amazingly so far. If only my own dear wife—— But I shall soon be
with her at home now, so I must not repine. You ain’t afraid of Sahar
for Mrs Ambrose? Don’t let them frighten her by calling it ‘the
Graveyard.’ It’s not that it’s unhealthy, simply that the desert round
is packed with graves—a burial-place for thousands of years, I dare
say.”
“She ain’t frightened—not she! Haven’t you observed that ladies
never are frightened or miserable about the things they ought to be
—that you expect them to be? They go through ’em as cool as a
cucumber. And then some ridiculous little thing, that no man in his
senses would ever think of again, they go and break their hearts
about!”
“Indeed I had not noticed. I fear I have always taken it for
granted Mrs Bayard would be alarmed, and she has indulged me by
letting me think so. Very kind of her, ’pon my word! But I trust the
other half of your observation ain’t true. I should be sorry to think I
had made my wife unhappy—however innocently.”
His tone was so anxious and grieved that Richard administered
comfort hastily. “Oh, don’t be afraid. If you ever did such a thing,
Mrs Bayard would know it was unintentional, trust her! I wish Mrs
Ambrose enjoyed that consolation.”
“Tell her so—and she will,” suggested Colonel Bayard.
“But I’m hanged if it would be true. Tell you what—a cross-
grained fellow who has lived all his life alone has no business to
marry. It’s no happiness for either of ’em.”
“Ask Mrs Ambrose,” said Colonel Bayard again.
Mrs Ambrose’s husband smiled reluctantly. “You know as well as
I do that whether the answer I received was that she was happy or
miserable, it would be liable to be reversed the next moment, for no
reason that anybody could perceive!”
“The very wife for you, Richard, my good fellow!” Colonel
Bayard shook his head wisely. “You ain’t allowed to presume on your
happiness, nor yet to persist in your misery, for if you ain’t in a new
mood a quarter of an hour later, Mrs Ambrose will be! Be thankful
for your good fortune, I tell you. Most men would give their ears for
such a wife as yours—and a brother-in-law a friend at court to boot!”
 “I never thought I should have to be grateful for being related
to that young rip Brian!” growled Richard.
“Well, if you ain’t grateful, I am for you. The General may pride
himself on never taking a suggestion, but he can’t be altogether
uninfluenced by the members of his own family. And if you can make
use of that influence in favour of my poor foolish Khans, they and I
will bless you yet.”
Not even the chilliness of that last interview could lessen
Colonel Bayard’s sense of responsibility for the wayward charges he
had watched over so long. Despite all his admiration for him, Richard
waxed a little impatient when he thought of it. It would be
uncommonly good for the Khans to come in contact with some one
who did not mind letting them know that he saw through their
foolish stratagems, and would brush away their subterfuges—
however roughly. Colonel Bayard, with the kindest intentions, had
left them in a fool’s paradise too long; they thought the length of
their tether was infinite. But unless he was much mistaken, the old
warrior now at Sahar would bring them up resolutely with a round
turn before very long. Even now, from certain enquiries which had
been addressed to him, Richard judged he was preparing to do this.
There was nothing shilly-shally about Sir Henry Lennox’s
methods. He had been ordered to disband the Political
Establishment, and that unlucky body faded like the baseless fabric
of a vision. The Asteroid, in bringing Colonel Bayard, brought also
orders, addressed to Richard, dealing with the Qadirabad Agency
and its staff. The place was to be closed and left in charge of a
reduced guard with one European officer, to prevent plundering, and
a few servants. Though there was to be no Resident in future, it
would no doubt be necessary to send frequent envoys to the Khans,
and a European-built house in healthy surroundings was a prize not
lightly to be let go. The rest of the inmates went various ways. Some
were summoned to Sahar—the Ambroses, that part of the
Khemistan Horse which was not already with the General, Captain
Crosse, Sir Dugald Haigh, and a few other officers whose units were
in the country. But most followed Colonel Bayard by the next
steamer down the river—first to Bab-us-Sahel and thence to
Bombay, where the outraged Services, already on bad terms with Sir
Harry, swore that even if Lord Maryport’s inspiration had not come
from him, the brutal haste with which the order had been carried out
was all his own, and vowed vengeance accordingly.
 CHAPTER IX.
DINNER AT THE GENERAL’S.

As usual after the cool weather had begun, the river was beginning
to go down, and it was no easy matter for the Nebula to pick her
way up-stream. As her captain said pathetically, “If the sandbanks
would only stay where they were, you’d know where you were. But
when a great beast of a shoal was in one place when you went
down the river, and on the return voyage you found it somewhere
else quite different, where were you?” A further handicap was
imposed by the necessity of towing two or three large flat-bottomed
boats—carrying the fortunes of the Eurasian and native clerks, peons
and other underlings, whom Sir Harry had selected for Sahar from
the derelict staff of the Qadirabad Agency,—since these displayed a
positive genius in fouling the bank, the shoals, the frequent islands,
floating tree-trunks, one another, the ship herself, and everything
else possible and impossible. But despite all obstacles, progress was
made somehow, and Brian, who had come down by sailing-boat to
meet the steamer a few miles below its destination, was able to
assure his relatives that they would get in comfortably in time for
dinner.
“Y’are to dine with us, by the way,” he said. “The General will
take no denial. We tried to put it to him that you’d rather be getting
comfortable in your own quarters the first night, but the old lad said
that was just it—the servants would be settling your things for you
while you were being properly fed. So we saw him safely established
with dear Munshi—he always calls the chap that, as if ’twas his
name—and Stewart started out to borrow crockery fit for a lady to
eat off, while I came down to meet you.”
“Who will he be borrowing from?” asked Eveleen curiously.
“How’d I know? The Mess, I suppose, or some of the civilians—
they’re the boys for style. Don’t be afraid—Stewart will do things for
you as they ought be done, or die.”
 “Has the General picked up the country talk yet?”
“Has he not, indeed!—in spite of all his sarcastic remarks! He
came out t’other day with bundibus—meaning bandobast, I suppose
as pat as you please, and Stewart and I winked the other eye behind
his back till we nearly burst. But listen now, how he’ll be leaving his
mark on the map. There’s some forsaken place up beyond Pagipur,
where the Khemistan Horse are to have a post to keep the tribes in
order. Just a heap of ruins—old fort and so on, but I suppose it had
some sort of name once. Anyhow, the General says it shall have a
new one now, and he’ll compliment Gul Ali Khan by naming it after
him. Quite so—Gul Aliabad; everybody agreeable—most neat and
appropriate. ‘Not a bit of it!’ says the old lad; ‘far too long; call it
Alibad and be done with it.’ Munshi and your humble servant venture
to point out that ain’t grammar—or whatever you call it. Quick as
lightning the old fellow barks out, ‘The Lennoxes make their own
grammar. Alibad’s the name, and be hanged to it and you!’ So there
you are, hukm hai, [it is an order] unless future ages dare to correct
old Harry’s grammar—which the present one won’t while he’s alive.”
“D’ye expect us to believe that yarn, Brian?” asked Richard,
shifting his cheroot lazily for an instant.
“Just as you please. Sure it won’t hurt me if you don’t—only
yourself. Now, Evie, be on the watch for the first sight of your new
home. Between this island and the next you’ll get the full view of it
in all its sandiness.”
Undoubtedly the prospect was a sandy one—particularly so after
the rich black soil of the Qadirabad district, with its countless villages
embowered in the vivid green of the nîm groves. Immediately ahead
was a long low island—fortified within an inch of its life, as Brian
pointed out; the great battlemented walls and bastions rising from
the very edge of the water—to the right a shapeless collection of
mud hovels straggling out into the desert, and to the left an
assemblage of similar buildings, not quite so aimless-looking, since it
centred round a more or less ruinous fort on a low hill. This was
Sahar, the fortified island was Bahar, and the native town on the
farther bank Bori—a name which naturally lent itself to innumerable
puns on the lips of the young gentlemen quartered at Sahar. If
military exigencies left any room on Bahar for vegetation, it did not
venture to show itself over the battlements, but the plumes of
scattered date-palms mitigated a little the prevailing sand-colour of
the buildings on either bank.
“I wonder why would it all look so dead and ruined?” said
Eveleen, in some dismay, as they drew in to the shore. “Like some
place in Egypt that nobody has lived in for two thousand years.”
“Pray, my dear, say something original,” said her husband
impatiently. “It’s impossible for anybody to mention Khemistan
without comparing it with Egypt.”
“But if it’s not like anything but Egypt, how would I say it was?”
she demanded triumphantly. “Tell me now, Brian—this place which I
mustn’t say is like Egypt, whereabouts in it do we live?”
“Ah, not here, I tell you! Sure the new town is a mile out. The
General was to send horses for you, that you mightn’t be delayed
while they landed your own. He wanted to puckerow [commandeer]
a side-saddle from one of the ladies in Cantonments, but I told him
you’d be just as happy with a stirrup thrown over a man’s saddle,
and he listened to me for once.”
Eveleen was quite satisfied, but her husband was not, unless his
expression belied him. The horses were duly waiting, and she flew
into the saddle with all the ease of past disgraceful experience—so
Brian declared,—to the great interest of her fellow-passengers. It
would have been too much to expect Richard to be pleased at this
unconventional method of travelling, but she did think he need not
have muttered something that sounded like “Circus tricks!” as he
gathered up the reins and put them into her hand. When Brian had
directed the servants where to go, they rode out of the town—which
looked more than ever like one of those deserted cities one reads of
in the Nearer East, uninhabited, but as habitable as it ever was. As
the sun neared the horizon, however, the inhabitants began to show
themselves lazily at their doorways, and children came scrambling
over the rubbish-heaps, on which everything seemed to be built, to
stare at the riders. Beyond stretched a sea of sand dotted with
tombstones, which seemed to extend as far as eye could reach, and
then they came suddenly upon a great cantonment, with solid
houses covered with shining chunam, and gay with rows of bright-
coloured chiks, and long ranges of “lines,” large enough to
accommodate several regiments.
“Somebody’s folly!” remarked Brian sententiously, pointing with
his whip. “They’ll have sunk a pretty penny in building this big place,
and it’s said the neighbourhood ain’t healthy, though we haven’t
found anything wrong with it as yet. This way, Evie!”
Passing two sentries, they rode into a compound which was a
miniature of the desert without—so wide was it and so sand-swept,
—with an enormous house at the far end, like a small town in itself.
The chiks were being drawn up now that the heat of the day was
over, and on the verandah stood a small spare figure with grey beard
blowing about in the breeze.
“Why, there’s my old lad—loose!” said Brian, much perturbed. “I
hope he’ll not have been getting into mischief. Stewart will be
certain to say ’twas my fault. But I ask you, could I have locked him
into the office, and told Munshi to sit on him? That’s the only thing
would really keep him quiet. Happily there’ll be three of us to look
after him next week, if his nephew who’s on sick leave turns up all
right. Now what has he been after, I wonder?”
“Welcome, a thousand times welcome, Mrs Ambrose!” cried Sir
Harry, hobbling with perilous haste down the steps. “These young
fellows call this place a desert, but it blossoms like the rose to-night.
Allow me!” he lifted her paternally from the saddle. “Oh, fie, fie!
what an uneasy journey you must have had on that contrivance!
Ambrose, I am very glad to see you. Plenty to do, believe me—start
to-night. But first we’ll have dinner—at once.”
“I beg your pardon, General, but ’twas not to be for an hour
yet,” put in Brian.
“Don’t trouble yourself about that, my lad. I have put it forward
an hour—bustled the cook a bit.” The General’s voice was happy and
triumphant. “Knew your sister would be starving. It’s coming in
now.”
“Ah, Sir Harry, but you’ll let us have a second to make ourselves
respectable and get the sand off?” urged Eveleen.
 “Sand, ma’am? I’ve been out in it a good part of the day, and
look at me! No, no; come to dinner.”
“Ah, but you were born tidy!” she sighed, giving her clothes
furtive shakes and pulls, and hoping fervently it was not to be a
dinner-party. In this she was reassured when Sir Harry led her into a
vast dining-hall, with one absurdly small table spread in the midst.
The servants hovering about looked unhappy, and Brian said
something under his breath.
“Will I go and look for Stewart, General? Sure he mayn’t know
of the change of hour.”
“No, no, lazy fellow! he must put up with a cold dinner. These
youngsters are apt to grow negligent where there are no ladies—eh,
ma’am?”
Gathering from Brian’s silence that she must not attempt to
defend the maligned Stewart, Eveleen found herself gallantly placed
at the head of the table, and heard her husband and brother warned
they would be put under arrest forthwith if they let her so much as
touch a carving-knife. While they wrestled with the dishes placed
before her, in silence save for the enquiries necessary to the polite
carver of the day, Eveleen looked down the table at the General,
beaming through his glasses opposite her.
“It’s a big house you have here, Sir Harry! Sure it must feel like
living in a church.” Her eyes wandered round the huge room.
“Glad it inspires you with such creditable sentiments, ma’am.
There’s another about the same size waiting for you. These
Khemistan Politicals knew how to make the money fly. No reflection
on you, Ambrose—it was before your day. Besides, they needed a
big place to house the establishment. A hundred and fifty souls in
this house alone, besides the servants—until Lord Maryport’s order
came. Now there won’t be forty, when we have you all at work.”
“But how will you get the work done by such a few, with so
much fever about?” asked Eveleen in dismay.
“Fever, ma’am? there’s no fever! What put that into your head?”
“Why, all the talk at Qadirabad was that you had half the army
in hospital!” she cried. Her husband came to her help, for the
General was looking wrathful.
 “That was undoubtedly the impression when we left, General. I
believe the Khans shared it.”
“They did, did they? And that’s why they have been so
impudent, I haven’t a doubt! Well, the next Vakils they send shall
have a nice little bone-shaking ride over the hills, and see two or
three thousand men trotted about—just to show ’em. My beautiful
camel battery will open their eyes a bit, I promise them. D’ye ever
see a camel battery, ma’am?—the dear solemn beasts looking so
philosophical with their noses up in the air, and dragging the nine-
pounders as if they were feathers!”
“Have you ever been with camels on the march, General?”
asked Richard, bitter reminiscence in his voice.
“Never, but I shall try ’em on my little trip to Pagipur. Why, ain’t
they satisfactory?”
“Sure you’ll find you can’t get fond of a camel, Sir Harry,” said
Eveleen. “You couldn’t have one tied up outside your tent, as you
would Black Prince and Dick Turpin, the way they’d put their noses
in and ask for a bit of biscuit. A camel would take a bit of you
instead—without asking.”
“One for me!” chuckled Sir Harry. “What nice beasts horses are,
ain’t they? But this husband of yours is looking mighty superior over
my follies, ma’am. It’s high treason—or ought to be—to hold up a
commanding officer to the contempt of his subordinates. Don’t you
do it again!”
“Never—till the next time!” Eveleen assured him. “And did you
get the third horse you were thinking of?”
“I did—worse luck! The uneasiest beast in creation, I believe.
Selima is her name officially, but that ribald brother of yours dubbed
her Tippetywink—how he spells it I don’t know—and now she
answers to nothing else.”
“Because you’d not dare even wink when you’re riding her,
General. She takes it as an invitation to dance—you’ll see, Evie.”
“Not with me on the lady’s back she won’t,” grumbled Sir Harry.
“Any little frivolity of that sort Miss Selima and I will have out by
ourselves in private. She’s as undependable as—the Khans. D’ye
ever hear of the dodge, Ambrose”—turning suddenly on Richard—“of
having two seals, one for ordinary use, and t’other just a little
different, so that if you want to deny it you can point out that it can’t
be yours? That’s what it seems to me our friends have been up to
just lately.”
“Yes, General; I have heard of the trick.” Richard spoke with
notable lack of enthusiasm. How was he to fulfil his pledge to
Colonel Bayard to do his best for the Khans if the fools were up to
these dodges already? Sir Harry caught him up eagerly.
“Well, you shall see after dinner. I am practically convinced, but
I won’t act unless I’m positively certain. The Governor-General is
very strong on that, too, and I’m glad of it, for I was afraid he was
unjust about poor Bayard, and whatever happens to these chaps
ought to be absolutely clear and above-board.”
Talking, as he did, continuously and at railroad speed, it might
have seemed difficult for the General to satisfy his hunger, but he
ate as fast as he talked, with a kind of mechanical action.
Presumably some one had instructed him in the deadly nature of
bazar pork, for that delicacy did not appear on the menu. Though
the table service came obviously from one or more canteens, the
dinner had evidently been carefully chosen, and a lady’s probable
tastes consulted in the selection of sweet dishes; but it was naturally
not improved by being put forward—the only wonder was that it was
not worse. Bad or good, however, there was little time to savour it,
for Sir Harry set the pace, and allowed no pauses. It did not strike
Eveleen at first that he was mischievously determined to get the
meal over before the absent Stewart could return, but she realised it
when, just as the dessert was put on the table, a worried face
appeared for an instant in the doorway, with two laden coolies dimly
visible behind. The one word “Jungly!” floated bitterly to the ears of
the diners, and the General exploded in such a paroxysm of mirth as
might have betrayed into unfair suspicions those who had not seen
that he drank nothing but water.
“And now he’s cursing me in blackfellows’ talk!” were the first
coherent words to obtain utterance. “Why don’t he use the Queen’s
English like a gentleman? Captain Stewart, come and apologise to