The people knew we were coming, and the tents
were up; but they hadn't expected us till the next day, so nothing was
ready, not even a lamp. It was the oddest experience to stumble about
in black darkness in entirely unknown surroundings. You know how
Boggley tumbles over things in the broad light of day, so you can
imagine what tosses he took over dressing-tables and chairs in
the darkness. It didn't last long, however, for an important fat
_khansamah_ hurried in, shocked at our plight, and, explaining that
his sahib, Mr. Lister, was away for a few days, brought us a lamp
and other necessaries. Dinner was not possible under the
circumstances--the box with our forks and knives had not arrived--so
the remains of Mrs. Royle's luncheon-basket coldly furnished forth
our evening meal While we sat there, uncomfortably poised on
dressing-bags, gnawing legs of fowl and hunches of bread, I thought
of you probably dining at the Ritz or the Savoy, with soft lights and
music, and lovely food, and probably not half as merry as Boggley and
I.
I don't know if I really like a tent to live in. The floor is covered
with straw, and then a carpet is stretched over it, which makes a
particularly bulgy, uneven surface to stand dressing-tables and things
on. The straw, too, is apt to stick out where it is least expected,
and gives one rather the feeling of being a tinker sleeping in a barn.
At night a tent is an awesome place. It is terrible to have no door
to lock, and to be entirely at the mercy of anything that creeps and
crawls; to have only a mosquito-net between you and an awful end.
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