"Oh, you were all right," he returned, airily. "We didn't want to disturb you till the last minute. You've a long journey before you."
I knew that it was kindly meant, but at the time, at least, I did not quite appreciate it. I had been a sort of unconscious Casabianca for the best part of the night, and that "last minute" might have been a very exciting one. Yes, Pahiatua is one of the places I shall not easily forget.
I suppose one does get used to these little eccentricities of Nature. I remember, when I visited far-away Thursday Island, the landlord of the Grand Hotel, who had arranged a match for me, said in a confidential aside to me just as I landed on the quay:—
"I don't think you will find the table very straight, Mr. Inman. We had a bit of an earthquake here last night, which shook it up a bit!"
"That's nice, cheerful news," I said. "How often do you have earthquakes?"
"Well, we're not so bad as some places," he answered. "They only happen about three times a week!"
My stay at Thursday Island lasted exactly twenty-four hours; I am not anxious to acquire an intimate knowledge of earthquakes. I brought away with me as a souvenir a copy of what is proudly claimed to be "the smallest newspaper in the world," the Thursday Island Pilot, a facsimile of which is here reproduced. It is a single sheet, measuring about fourteen inches by eight.
On one occasion I "put my foot in it" fairly. It happened in Southern India, at a place where I was booked to play at the local club. The journey took twelve hours by boat, and when I arrived I was told that a gentleman was waiting for me. I thought that he was bound to be the secretary of the club, who had arranged all details with me, and chatted to him as we made our way towards the village.
Presently we passed a ramshackle-looking building, the walls of which, as far as I could judge, were made out of empty biscuit-tins and soap-boxes. It straggled over half an acre of ground, and troops of hungry dogs were sniffing around it.
