"At present I am doing nothing," was the reply, "unless passive reclining may count as being something. I trust I do not intrude or annoy?"
"You do intrude and likewise you do annoy also. I ain't accustomed to travel with blacks, and I ain't agoing to have you spitting about 'ere. You got in when I was asleep."
"You were certainly snoring when I got in, and I was careful not to awaken you—but not on account of any great sensation of guilt or fear. I assure you I have no intention of spitting or being in any way rude, unmannerly, or offensive. And since you object to travelling with 'blacks' I suggest—that you leave the carriage."
Did Horace's ears deceive him? Did he sleep, did he dream, and were visions about? Leave the carriage?
"Look 'ere," he shouted, "you keep a civil tongue in your 'ead. Don't you know I am a gentleman? What do you mean by getting into a first-class carriage with a gentleman and insulting 'im? Want me to throw you out before we reach a station? Do yer?"
"No, to tell you the truth I did not realize that you are a gentleman—and I have known a great number of English gentlemen in England and India, and generally found them mirrors of chivalry and the pink of politeness and courtesy. And I hope you won't try to throw me out either in a station or elsewhere for I might get annoyed and hurt you."
What a funny nigger it was! What did he mean by "mirrors of chivalry". Talked like a bloomin' book. Still, Horace would learn him not to presoom.
The presumptuous one retired to the lavatory; washed, shaved, and reappeared dressed in full Pathan kit. But for this, there was nothing save his very fine physique and stature to distinguish him from an inhabitant of Southern Europe.
Producing a red-covered official work on Mounted Infantry Training, he settled down to read.
Horace regretted that India provided not his favourite Comic Cuts and
Photo Bits.