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Stewart said sadly. ‘But in one of the prettier parts. In Chichester, in Sussex.’
    That was the end of their conversation and Ganesh saw no more of Mr Stewart. When he called at the hut some three weeks later, he found it occupied by a young labourer and his wife. Many years afterwards Ganesh learnt what had happened to Mr Stewart. About six months after their conversation he had returned to England and joined the army. He died in Italy.
    This was the man whose memory Ganesh so handsomely honoured in the dedication of his autobiography:
T O L ORD S TEWART OF C HICHESTER
Friend and Counsellor
of Many Years

    Ganesh had become more than a regular visitor at Ramlogan’s. He was eating there every day now; and when he called, Ramlogan no longer allowed him to remain in the shop, but invited him in immediately to the room at the back. This caused Leela to retreat to the bedroom or the kitchen.
    And even the back room began to undergo improvements. The table got an oilcloth cover; the unpainted, mildewed partitions became gay with huge Chinese calendars; the hammock made from a sugar sack was replaced by one made from a flour sack. A vase appeared one day on the oilcloth on the table; and less than a week later paper roses bloomed in the vase. Ganesh himself was treated with increasing honour. At first they fed him out of enamel dishes. Now they gave him earthenware ones. They knew no higher honour.
    The table itself was to offer a further surprise. One day a whole series of booklets on The Art of Salesmanship appeared on it.
    Ramlogan said, ‘I bet you does miss all the big books and thing you did have in Port of Spain, eh, sahib?’
    Ganesh said he didn’t.
    Ramlogan strove to be casual. ‘I have a few books myself. Leela put them out on the table.’
    ‘They look pretty and nice.’
    ‘Education, sahib, is one hell of a thing. Nobody did bother to send me to school, you know. When I was five they send me out to cut grass instead. But look at Leela and she sister. Both of them does read and write, you know, sahib. Although I don’t know what happening to Soomintra since she married that damn fool in San Fernando.’
    Ganesh flipped through the pages of one of the booklets. ‘Yes, they look as really nice books.’
    ‘Is really for Leela I buy the book, sahib. I say, if the girl can read, we must give she something to read. Ain’t true, sahib?’
    ‘Is not true, Pa,’ a girl’s voice said, and they turned to see Leela at the kitchen door.
    Ramlogan turned back quickly to Ganesh. ‘Is the sort of girl she is, sahib. She don’t like people to boast about she. She shy. And if it have one thing she hate, is to hear lies. I was just testing she, to show you.’
    Leela, not looking at Ganesh, said to Ramlogan, ‘You buy those books from Bissoon. When he went away you get so vex you say that if you see him again you go do for him.’
    Ramlogan laughed and slapped his thigh. ‘This Bissoon, sahib, is a real smart seller. He does talk just as a professor, not so good as you, but still good. But what really make me buy the books is that we did know one another when we was small and in the same grass-cutting gang. We was ambitious boys, sahib.’
    Ganesh said again, ‘I think they is good books.’
    ‘Take them home, man. What book make for if not to read? Take them home and read them up, sahib.’
    It was not long after that Ganesh saw a big new notice in the shop, painted on cardboard.
    ‘Is Leela self who write that,’ Ramlogan said. ‘I didn’t ask she to write it, mind you. She just sit down quiet quiet one morning after tea and write it off.’
    It read:
NOTICE
NOTICE, IS. HEREBY; PROVIDED: THAT, SEATS!
ARE, PROVIDED. FOR; FEMALE: SHOP, ASSISTANTS!
    Ganesh said, ‘Leela know a lot of punctuation marks.’
    That is it, sahib. All day the girl just sitting down and talking about these puncturation marks. She is like that, sahib.’
    ‘But who is your shop assistants?’
    ‘Leela say is the law to have the