The assistant pointed at the back door, and we struck off through the rock-strewn grove. On the way, Marten fell victim to another inspiration.
“I’ve got it!” he crowed, as we came in sight of the bodyguard of servants, flitting in and out among the plants and vines of the commissioner’s veranda, “Just watch my smoke.”
A native conducted us into a broad, low room, richly furnished and cooled by rhythmically moving punkahs. The governor of the district was a very young man, the junior, perhaps, of some of our trio. He bade us be seated, ordered a servant to bring us cooling drinks, and, when they were served, signified his readiness to hear our story. Marten stepped forward and, assuming the attitude of an orator on whose word hangs the fate of nations, proceeded to trot out the inspiration.
“We have come to you, Mr. Commissioner,” he began, “because we must be in Madras to-morrow morning, and we can’t make it unless we go through on the one o’clock train. We’re seamen, sir, from a tramp that tied up in Colombo last month. A couple of nights ago we got shore leave and went for a cruise around the city. The skipper told us to be on board at midnight. We landed on the wharf at eleven, an’ paid off our ’rickshaws an’ yelled for a sampan. But blast me eyes, sir, if she wasn’t gone! She’d pulled ’er mud-hook at ten o’clock, sir, we found out, an’ was off two hours before the skipper told us to come back, an’ we was left on the beach. We knowed she was makin’ fer Madras, so we comes over to Tuticorin an’ started to catch ’er. She’ll be off to-morrow morning for ’ome, an’ if we don’t make ’er we’ll be left on the beach, an’ all our clothes is on board, sir. One of us”—pointing at me—“’as dibs enough to take ’im through, but the assistant commissioner won’t give us two tickets only to Tanjore, an’ eight annas batter, an’ if we stop in every district it’ll take a week to get there, an’ cost the gover’ment a lot o’ batter. Couldn’t you give us a ticket straight through, sir, so’s we can make ’er, an’ all our clothes an’ papers is on board, sir.”
“Are you sure your captain will let you back on board?” asked the commissioner.
“Sure,” cried Marten and Haywood as one man.
The Englishman snatched an official sheet from a drawer, scrawled a few lines on it, and handed it to our spokesman.
“Here’s an order for through tickets and a day’s batter,” he said. “Hurry down to the office and give it to my assistant.”
The Hindu force was dismayed at the note. The assistant scanned the signature suspiciously, while secretaries and clerks crowded around him.
“Why, that will be nearly ten rupees!” gasped an official, perusing the time-table.