When the advance was paid, his available funds were at an end; he would have nothing coming in, for another twelve months! This was indeed heavy news; how was seventy pounds to last a man for a whole year? He might borrow, the old family lawyer might lend him a few hundreds, or he could raise a mortgage on Mallender; but was Mallender his to mortgage? was not the property strictly entailed?
Mallender's brain,—according to his own account,—worked slowly, and with difficulty, and he sat for some time, with these questions buzzing in his aching and bewildered head, then he rose, and with an abstracted salute departed from the bank, a grave and anxious wanderer.
CHAPTER XV
Accompanied by Anthony and Chinna-Sawmy, his luggage and many bundles, Mallender left Madras by rail at five o'clock. The carriages were crammed in the usual fashion; natives of India have an insatiable passion for travel, and are absolutely regardless of heat, packed compartments, and semi-suffocation. The train dawdled through the suburbs, then away across hot dry plains, by palms, villages and temples, till at length it crawled into Panjeverram. Panjeverram, although but twenty miles from the City was a silent, forlorn, and forsaken, old place; there was no sign of life or bustle at its modest humble station,—not even a gharry in waiting. The luggage and bundles were therefore placed on a tailer (or hand-cart) and trundled off to the Dâk Bungalow, through a great avenue of banyan trees,—so closely meeting overhead, that they constituted a long black tunnel; only a faint light here and there like fire-flies in a forest broke its cimmerian gloom. The little party did not encounter a soul, before they turned over a brick culvert, and found themselves in front of the rest-house. This was old, and out of repair; its atmosphere, even that hot March night, felt damp; and the air was heavily impregnated by an odour of mildew, mushrooms, and bats.
A visitor was evidently a precious rarity, and the venerable Dâk Matey was full of rapture, and eager and voluble apologies. He shouted orders to some unseen subordinate in the back verandah, and proceeded to light lamps and bustle about. He laid a newspaper as table-cloth, placed on it two candles in black bottles, and between these, a bunch of zinnias in a mustard tin; a knife and fork and tumbler, produced from Mallender's tiffin basket, gave a business-like air to these preparations; a pat of white butter, and a small bazaar loaf, were added by Anthony, who casually remarked that "he had just done kill one big snake, in Master's bathroom!"
"Very bad that snake, but only coming after water," he explained, as he moved about unpacking, giving directions in Tamil to the hoary Matey, and goading him to frenzied exertions. Then turning to Mallender, with an air of authority, he said:
"Master better wash, and I bring soup."
The bedroom proved to be nearly as bare as the immortal cupboard of Mother Hubbard, and merely contained a charpoy, a chair, a battered punkah, and cobwebs,—thick as ropes! The dinner also proved a disappointment; soup of Worcester sauce and hot water, goat chops, the inevitable anchovy toast, and a small bottle of beer.
Mallender realised that he must adjust himself to the position, and get used to this sort of thing! He had fallen into fastidious ways, and been spoiled, and pampered, by the luxuries of Hooper's Gardens.