“I knew your believing nature,” he rejoined; “that is why I put you to the trouble of coming to me, so that I might warn you against falling into the same error as these simple-hearted Bengalis.”
With these words the mill-owner beckoned to his clerk who was standing by to produce samples of the stuff that was being manufactured in his mill. Pointing to it he said: “Look at this stuff. This is the latest variety turned out by our mill. It is meeting with a widespread demand. We manufacture it from the waste. Naturally, therefore, it is cheap. We send it as far north as the valleys of the Himalayas. We have agencies all over the country, even in places where your voice or your agents can never reach. You can thus see that we do not stand in need of more agents. Besides, you ought to know that India’s production of cloth falls far short of its requirements. The question of Swadeshi, therefore, largely resolves itself into one of production. The moment we can increase our production sufficiently, and improve its quality to the necessary extent, the import of foreign cloth will automatically cease. My advice to you, therefore, is not to carry on your agitation on its present lines, but to turn your attention to the erection of fresh mills. What we need is not propaganda to inflate demand for our goods, but greater production.”
“Then, surely, you will bless my effort, if I am already engaged in that very thing,” I asked.
“How can that be?” he exclaimed, a bit puzzled, “but maybe you are thinking of promoting the establishment of new mills, in which case you certainly deserve to be congratulated.”
“I am not doing exactly that,” I explained, “but I am engaged in the revival of the spinning wheel.”
“What is that?” he asked, feeling still more at sea. I told him all about the spinning wheel, and the story of my long quest after it, and added, “I am entirely of your opinion; it is no use my becoming virtually an agent for