“I wonder,” mused the assistant, “has the commissioner sahib power to grant such an order?”
The force did not know. There were few things of importance, apparently, that it did know; but the haste with which it abandoned more irksome duties and fell to pulling out ponderous volumes proved that it was eager to learn.
“Yes, here it is,” sighed the senior officer at last, pointing out a page to his colleagues, “‘within the discretion of the commissioner.’”
“Well, julty karow!” shouted Marten.
There is, you see, a Hindu equivalent for “hurry up.” Philologists have noted it, translators have found it valuable, natives use it to interpret the expression that falls so often from sahib lips. But the records make no mention of a man who has induced a Hindu actually and physically to julty karow.
“Come,” urged Haywood, “we want to make the one o’clock train.”
“I will hurry,” promised the assistant, transforming his turban into a sheet and gravely rearranging it. “I shall now make out the order.”
“But give us the tickets and cut out the red tape,” growled Marten.
“Oh, sahib, that is impossible,” gasped the Hindu. “I must make out the order and send it to the secretary to be sealed. Then it will go to the treasurer, who will make a note of it and send it to the auditor to be stamped and signed. Then it will be returned to the treasurer, who will file it and make out a receipt to send back to the secretary, who will send it to me to be signed, and the auditor—”
But Marten had fled through the back door and we dashed after him.