“What about you?” she addressed Omprakash, whose look was disdainful. “You have not said a word.”

“My nephew speaks only when he disagrees,” said Ishvar. “His silence is a good sign.”

She liked Ishvar’s face, the type that put people at ease and encouraged conversation. But there was the other tight-lipped fellow, who frightened away the words. His chin was too small for his features, though when he smiled everything seemed in proportion.

She stated the terms of employment: they would have to bring their own sewing-machines; all sewing would be piecework. “The more dresses you make, the more you earn,” she said, and Ishvar agreed that that was fair. Rates would be fixed according to the complexity of each pattern. The hours were from eight a.m. to six p.m. — less than that would not do, though they were welcome to work longer. And there would be no smoking or paanchewing on the job.

“Paan we don’t chew only,” said Ishvar. “But sometimes we like to smoke a beedi.”

“You will have to smoke it outside.”

The conditions were acceptable. “What is the address of your shop?” asked Ishvar. “Where do we bring the sewing-machines?”

“Right here. When you come next week, I will show you where to put them, in the back room.”

“Okayji, thank you, we will definitely come on Monday.” They waved to Maneck as they left. “We will see you again soon, hanh.”

“Sure,” said Maneck, waving back. Noticing Dina Dalai’s silent inquiry, he explained about their meeting on the train.

“You must be careful who you talk to,” she said. “Never know what kind of crooks you might run into. This is not your little hamlet in the mountains.”

“They seemed very nice.”

“Hmm, yes,” she said, reserving judgement. Then she apologized again for assuming he was a tailor. “I could not see you properly because you were standing behind them, my eyes are weak.” How silly of me, she thought, mistaking this lovely boy for a bowlegged tailor. And so sturdy too. Must be the famous mountain air they talk about, the healthy food and water.