THE POMEROON TRAIL 83 



name himself, for it seemed as if he too reahzed 

 his changed personahty. 



And now the flow of legal reiteration and 

 alliteration ceased for a moment, and I listened 

 to the buzzing of a marahunta wasp and the 

 warbling of a blue tanager among the fronds. 

 For a moment, in the warm sunshine, the hot, 

 woolly wigs and the starched coats and the 

 shining scabbard seemed out of place. One felt 

 all the discomfort of the tight boots and stiff 

 collars, and a glance at Ram Narine showed 

 his slim figure clothed in the looped, soft linen 

 of his race. And he seemed the only wholly 

 normal tropic thing there — he and the wasp and 

 the tanager and the drooping motionless palm 

 shading the window. In comparison, all else 

 seemed almost Arctic, unacclimatized. 



Then the deep tones of the Court rose, and 

 in more simple verbiage, — almost crude and 

 quite unlegal to my ears, — we heard Ram Na- 

 rine sentenced to twelve months' hard labor. 

 And the final words of the interpreter left 

 Ram's face as unconcerned and emotionless as 

 that of the Buddhas in the Burmese pagodas. 

 And the simile recurred again and again after 

 it was all over. So Ram and I parted, to meet 



