VII
OFF TO ASIA
IT was at the Club, only a few days later, where the Doctor met Professor Cultus. The usual preliminaries of greeting had hardly passed from hearing before the Professor seemed unusually anxious to know certain details about the Far East, details about modes of travel and such things,—in fact, asked so many questions quite unlike his usual mode of conversation, that the Doctor pricked up his ears with delight, evidently having some suspicions, and finally asked the direct question: “Why don’t you go and see for yourself?”
Professor Cultus laughed, and then frankly acknowledged the situation: “Mrs. Cultus and Adele are so bent on seeing the Orient before it becomes civilized, as they evidently expect, that I have no peace. Mrs. Cultus is reading ‘O. K.’ between the lines of ‘The Incarnation of Krishna Mulvaney,’ as if one ought to throw some light upon the other. She says she wants to make the acquaintance of some of those Khidmatgars and Maharajas while they yet stand upon their native heath. I’ve told her they don’t wear kilts like MacGregor, but ’twas no use. She immediately wished to know what they did wear. I suppose I’m in for it. They’ve been talking the matter over at intervals all winter, but now! now! O now! we have it from thin soup to thick coffee.”
“Better give in,” said the Doctor, laughing heartily.
“Well, just between us, I have;—but I haven’t told them so, not as yet. I rather take to the notion myself since I can see my way to get off, but I don’t quite understand the modus operandi—how one man can manage civilized women in a land where women don’t generally count for much. Did you say the Taj could now be seen without an elephant ride? That’s the sort of thing I must know beforehand; two civilized women on one wild beast might demoralize the beast.”
The bare possibility of having the Cultus party in the East at the same time with themselves, sent Paul to call upon Adele as quickly as he could pick up his hat and rush out. These two young members put their heads together and practically settled all details, both possible and impossible, before the older members of the party could well realize what they were talking about. Youth forever! American style! Action! Action! Action! with occasional application of the brake.
Mrs. Cultus was greatly in favor of having four in their own party.
“Une partie carree is always so much more workable when travelling,” she said, “and besides, Adele ought to have some one nearer her own age. I don’t intend to follow Adele into every dirty native haunt she may take a notion to visit. Now if we can only find some one of the modern Investigating-Civil Club, or of the Literary-Reformation Reportorial Society, we shall be in clover all through the tour; we can report progress in print whenever we wish, and have a book ready as soon as we return.”
“But, Mother, you are too grasping,” exclaimed Adele, “only a literary corps can assimilate the whole thing.”
“No! Not quite!” said Mrs. Cultus. “We need only report our own progress, not the rotation-progress-of-the-earth. Now that I come to think of it, perhaps I’d better do the reporting myself. The society column generally puts in what I send them,—and then I’m sure of what is said. Oh! I have an idea! It’s a companion for you, Adele, that troubles me! Now I come to think of it, whom would you like?” But before any one could reply, Mrs. Cultus continued: