"What's the name of this town, anyway?" asked Richardson, changing the subject.
"Agra," said the Britisher, who appeared to take our story without doubting a word of it.
We got by him and in ten minutes were housed in a Dak Bungalow where we cooked our own meals and lived a life of leisure at about fifty cents a day, each.
We were hardly settled in our new home when a missionary knocked at our door and advised us to leave the city on account of an epidemic of cholera. We smiled at him.
Agra is the home of the most beautiful building in the world—the Taj Mahal. Most of the magnificent structures which make Agra so interesting are in the Fort. The Taj Mahal stands by itself about a mile away on the banks of the Junna River and its solitude prevents anything impairing its beauty.
Commenced in 1630 by Emperor Shah Jahan, as a tomb for his favourite wife, it is to-day as fresh and new looking as though it had just been taken out of the band-box. Surrounded by magnificent gardens and fountains, approached by imposing red sandstone gates, it is the perfection of beauty and symmetry. It is built of white marble and, with its huge dome and four stately minarets resting against the azure sky, presents a picture of wonderful colour and perfect harmony. I have never seen a more beautiful edifice.
The whole of India was talking Durbar. We had been told a dozen times that it would be impossible to obtain hotel accommodations in Delhi for less than ten dollars a day. We were advised to eliminate this city from our itinerary as only the rich could afford to stay there during the Coronation festivities.
We arrived in Delhi late in the evening and had a good meal at the station restaurant. This meal cost us only one-half the rate listed on the menu card. This pleasing reduction had happened several times before, during our travels in India, but we did not know the reason until the waiter in the Delhi restaurant asked what regiment we belonged to. We had been taken for British soldiers. It seems that in certain cities Tommy Atkins gets a discount of fifty per cent. in all eating places. India is no place for a woollen suit. White linen or duck are the clothes usually worn by foreigners. Richardson and I didn't have the time or the money to have white suits laundered. We solved the problem by wearing khaki with white suits for special occasions. With our khaki suits and brown pith helmets we looked like British soldiers.
In the Delhi restaurant we got a thirty cent meal for fifteen cents. This wasn't a bad beginning for a city in which ten dollars a day was the minimum expense for living. We went out of the station into the darkness of a large park near-by.
"Can you speak English?" said Richardson to the first passer-by. There was no response.