“I say, Waring,” he called out as he approached, “just look at me! One would think I was a queen bee. If this goes on, you will have to consign me to a lunatic asylum, if there is such a place out here.”
“Mark, let me introduce you to my old friend, Major Byng.”
Major Byng bent forward in his chair—to stand up was too great an exertion even to greet a possible purchaser of polo ponies—smiled affably, and said—
“You are only just out, I understand. How do you like India?”
“So far, I loathe it,” sitting down as he spoke, removing his topee, and wiping his forehead. “Ever since I landed, I have lived in a state of torment.”
“Ah, the mosquitoes!” exclaimed Major Byng, sympathetically; “you will get used to them. They always make for new arrivals and fresh blood.”
“No, no; but human mosquitoes! Touts, hawkers, beggars, jewellers, horse-dealers. They all set upon me from the moment I arrived. Ever since then, my life is a burthen to me. It was pretty bad on board ship. Some of our fellow-travellers seemed to think I was a great celebrity, instead of the common or ordinary passenger; they loaded me with civil speeches, and the day we got into Bombay I was nearly buried alive in invitations, people were so sorry to part with me!”
“Here is a nice young cynic for you!” exclaimed Captain Waring, complacently. “He is not yet accustomed to the fierce light that beats upon a good-looking young bachelor, heir to thirty thousand a year——”
“Why not make it a hundred thousand at once, while you are about it?” interrupted the other impatiently. “How could they tell I was heir to any one? I’m sure I am a most everyday-looking individual. My uncle’s income is not ticketed on my back!”
“It was in one sense,” exclaimed Waring, with a chuckle.