He stood on tiptoe and shouted.
"Ismail! O--Ismail!" Ismail came, like a yellow-fanged wolf, bowed to the Mahatma as if nakedness and royalty were one, and stood eyeing the water curiously.
"Get us garments!" King ordered testily.
"I was not staring at thee, little King _sahib_," he answered.

"I was marveling!" But he went off without explaining what he had been marveling at, and we went on with our ablutions, the job of getting ashes out of your hair not being quite so easy as it might appear.

I daresay it was fifteen minutes before Ismail came back carrying two complete native costumes for King and me, and a long saffron robe for the Mahatma.

Then we came out of the water and the Gray Mahatma smiled.
"I said there were no more traps, and it seems I spoke the truth," he said wonderingly.

"Moreover, I did not set this trap, but it was you yourselves who led me into it." "Which trap ?" we demanded with one voice.
"You have stirred the mud, my friends, to a condition in which the _mugger_ who lives in that pool is not visible.