Later our traveller proposed to call upon the Resident—the chief authority in the place—and present his letters of introduction. He had been told that he must not call before 7.30 in the evening, and also that he must wear dress clothes. It seemed an outrageous thing to do, to put on dress clothes in broad daylight in an hotel and to go out about dinner time to call, and when he summoned Usoof to assist him, that grave-faced individual did so with a kind of silent pity for his master compelled to do unaccountable things in a land of strangers.
However, when X. had arrayed himself, as though he were dining out, his heart failed him. He felt it was impossible to go to the house of a stranger like this just at the hour for dinner without appearing as though he hoped he would be asked to stay for that meal. And so he shamefacedly untied his white tie and asked Usoof to provide him with a morning coat. This apprehension might have been spared, however; the call was never actually paid, for, in the drive that led up to the house of the Resident, he met a carriage coming out containing a gentleman and three ladies. This turned out to be the Resident with his wife and daughters. It was an agreeable surprise to find that the carriage stopped, and the traveller had the somewhat difficult task of introducing himself and explaining his appearance in the dark. The Resident, who spoke excellent English, was most cordial and kind. He regretted that he was not at home to receive the intended visit, but he was obliged to attend a reception given in honour of the General, the hero of the Lomboh War. Then the great official expressed a hope that X. had secured his permit, and told him that he must renew it when he reached Buitensug, which was the limit of his jurisdiction. X. noticed that the Resident was not in dress clothes and mentally congratulated himself that he wore none either, or most certainly as the carriage drove away he would have looked like a person disappointed of a dinner.
The hotel was most gorgeously illuminated with electric light, and the marble dining hall was extravagantly lurid. Had X. consulted his convenience he would certainly have worn his black sun spectacles, but actually feared to alarm his followers by exhibiting any further tendency to eccentricity on their first day in a strange country, and so he resigned himself to blink owlishly throughout the meal. The absence of a punkah, a necessity to which he was accustomed, was also a trial. However, there was little fear of getting hot by over indulgence at the table, as the chilly cocoanut-oily viands were excellent checks to any imprudent display of appetite. Towards the end of the repast the proprietor of the hotel informed X. that the Resident of Batavia wished to speak to him through the telephone. If there is one place where he exhibits himself in an unfavourable light it is in front of that horrible, muttering, jibbering instrument, when, after the introductory "Who's there?" and information as to who you are repeated ad nauseam, there rumble to your ear the most exasperating sounds, so full of meaning and yet conveying nothing, until it seems as though the person at the other end were mocking you, and the tone of his voice gets so irritating that you long to throw down the tubes and make a rush at him. However, on this occasion X. wisely left the whole matter in the hands of the proprietor, who presently informed him that the Resident invited him to an open air concert given at the Concordia Club in honour of the General, then the man of the hour, and, if he would care to come, an English friend would presently call for him at the hotel. The only possible answer to such a welcome invitation was duly transmitted.
X. has, according to his own account, all his life been a most fortunate individual. Wherever he went he has always, as the phrase has it, "fallen on his feet." On this expedition his luck did not desert him, and on the appearance of his fellow countryman which took place (to be exact in speaking of an event now historical) at 9 p.m., there commenced a new departure which forged a first link in the chain of events which was to happily land him in the most beautiful country that he had ever yet beheld. X. has always thought of telephones more kindly since.
CHAPTER VII.
A CONCERT AT THE CONCORDIA CLUB.
The traveller was naturally much impressed with the scene at the Concordia Club. In the beautiful gardens, which were gorgeously illuminated, people were walking about and sitting down as though it were an English summer night. But, as in the East thoughts of health and diet always occupy an extraordinarily prominent place in the minds of all who have dwelt there for any length of time, that which chiefly struck the stranger was the apparently reckless indifference to fever displayed by those flaneurs who dawdled about under the trees on this treacherous soil, as though it were the harmless green grass of Hurlingham at home. And it almost relieved him to hear presently from a lady, to whom he expressed this astonishment, that the doctors declared this season of open air concerts was certainly the most busy time for colds and fever. The Resident and his party were seated at a round table on the top of the flight of marble steps leading to the Club. To each person of this group X. was presented in turn, after which he had the honour of a seat on the right hand of his host and thus full opportunity to enjoy the novelty of the surroundings and the excellent music of the band. As the party gathered round the table included some of the greatest names in the country, people who were in a position to have an intimate knowledge of recent events, the conversation proved interesting and instructive. Thus the Englishman heard the story of the Balineri war—that terrible defeat and massacre of the Dutch troops under the command of the general, who ultimately retrieved the position, and to do honour to whom all were assembled to-night. X. listened as people spoke of the unparalleled treachery of the natives, the sufferings of the troops, and the assistance rendered to the enemy by the importation of arms by a European. And severe remarks were made as to this latter incident, some present insisting that the culprit was an Englishman from Singapore. War was in the air—everyone talked of the war, and such an impression did the matter make upon X., who heard the conduct of the campaign discussed wherever he went, throughout his stay, that it may be of interest to give in a separate chapter the story of what was said about the recent war.
All those who joined the party on the terrace spoke English, to the relief of X.—and as new guests arrived to join the circle they were formally introduced by name to each one among the company in that precise manner which is the fashion in America. And likewise when any individual rose to leave he would bid good-night to each separate member of the party.
When I undertook to compile this little account of how X. went to Java, it had been my intention to arrange what he saw and what he heard in some order of sequence, but from the nature of his manner of observation, I find this to be impossible, and therefore must record each impression he received and facts of interest which he heard, just as they came to him, regardless of apparent want of connection. As the chief object of this sketch is to assist others intending to spend a short holiday in that beautiful island belonging to our neighbours, this little originality may pass.