Then we had
to change at the next station and wait for the connection, and we
actually sat there till eight in the evening, when our train sauntered
in. They say of a certain cold and draughty station in Scotland that
in it there is neither man's meat, nor dog's meat, nor a place to sit
down, and it is equally true of the Indian junction. We had nothing
to eat all day except ginger snaps, and they pall after a time,
especially in a dry and dusty land where no water is. There were two
other travellers in the same plight, a Mr. and Mrs. Blackie, and we
sat together through that long hot day, too utterly hungry and bored
even to pretend interest in each other. When the train did come in,
something had gone wrong with the engine, and they lost more time
pottering about with it--tying it up with string probably. It was then
that my temper, and I do think I behaved with great fortitude up to
that time, gave way, and I tried to bully the officials. It was
no use. They merely smiled and said, "Cer-tain-lee," and Boggley
irritated me more and more by solemnly repeating:
"It is not good for the Christian soul to hustle the Aryan brown,
For the Christian riles and the heathen smiles
And it weareth the Christian down.
And the end of the fight is a tombstone white
With the name of the dear deceased;
And the epitaph drear--'A fool lies here
Who tried to hustle the East.'"
We had nothing to look forward to at the end of the journey except a
dak-bungalow's cold welcome, but the Blackies, who live at Madhabad,
insisted we should go home with them to dinner; so, instead of the
tinned ham-and-egg meal we had expected, we had a dainty, well-cooked
dinner in a cosy dining-room.
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