I loved him; I couldn't help it; but the family--why, they could hardly
speak of him with patience. To this day I regret his loss, and wish I
had him back; but they--it is different with them. He was a native, and
came from Surat. Twenty degrees of latitude lay between his birthplace
and Manuel's, and fifteen hundred between their ways and characters and
dispositions. I only liked Manuel, but I loved Satan. This latter's
real name was intensely Indian. I could not quite get the hang of it,
but it sounded like Bunder Rao Ram Chunder Clam Chowder. It was too long
for handy use, anyway; so I reduced it.
When he had been with us two or three weeks, he began to make mistakes
which I had difficulty in patching up for him. Approaching Benares one
day, he got out of the train to see if he could get up a misunderstanding
with somebody, for it had been a weary, long journey and he wanted to
freshen up. He found what he was after, but kept up his pow-wow a shade
too long and got left. So there we were in a strange city and no
chambermaid. It was awkward for us, and we told him he must not do so
any more.
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