Chapter 11 - Page 2

"I is servant one time at British Lesident's at de Maharajah's city.
Pick up English dere. Also pick up plenty lupee. Velly good business
at British Lesident's. Now gone back home to my own village, letired
gentleman." And he drew himself up with conscious dignity.

I surveyed the retired gentleman from head to foot. He had an air of
distinction, which not even his bare toes could altogether mar. He was
evidently a person of local importance. "And what did you want me to
visit your village for?" I inquired, dubiously.

"White traveller sahib ill dere, sir. Vely ill; got plague. Great
first-class sahib, all same like Governor. Ill, fit to die; send me out
all times to try find Eulopean doctor."

"Plague?" I repeated, startled. He nodded.

"Yes, plague; all same like dem hab him so bad down Bombay way."

"Do you know his name?" I asked; for though one does not like to desert
a fellow-creature in distress, I did not care to turn aside from my
road on such an errand, with Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft, unless for some
amply sufficient reason.

The retired gentleman shook his head in the most emphatic fashion. "How
me know?" he answered, opening the palms of his hands as if to show
he had nothing concealed in them. "Forget Eulopean name all times so
easily. And traveller sahib name very hard to lemember. Not got English
name. Him Eulopean foleigner."

"A European foreigner!" I repeated. "And you say he is seriously ill?
Plague is no trifle. Well, wait a minute; I'll see what the ladies say
about it. How far off is your village?"

He pointed with his hand, somewhat vaguely, to the hillside. "Two hours'
walk," he answered, with the mountaineer's habit of reckoning distance
by time, which extends, under the like circumstances, the whole world
over.

I went back to the tents, and consulted Hilda and Lady Meadowcroft. Our
spoilt child pouted, and was utterly averse to any detour of any sort.
"Let's get back straight to Ivor," she said, petulantly. "I've had enough
of camping out. It's all very well in its way for a week but when they
begin to talk about cutting your throat and all that, it ceases to be
a joke and becomes a wee bit uncomfortable. I want my feather bed. I
object to their villages."

"But consider, dear," Hilda said, gently. "This traveller is ill, all
alone in a strange land. How can Hubert desert him? It is a doctor's
duty to do what he can to alleviate pain and to cure the sick. What
would we have thought ourselves, when we were at the lamasery, if a body
of European travellers had known we were there, imprisoned and in