Ch. 21: At the end of the Passage - Page 2

failed to
appear, he would send a telegram to his last address, in order that he
might know whether the defaulter were dead or alive. There are very many
places in the East where it is not good or kind to let your
acquaintances drop out of sight even for one short week.

The players were not conscious of any special regard for each other.
They squabbled whenever they met; but they ardently desired to meet, as
men without water desire to drink. They were lonely folk who understood
the dread meaning of loneliness. They were all under thirty years of
age,--which is too soon for any man to possess that knowledge.

'Pilsener?' said Spurstow, after the second rubber, mopping his
forehead.

'Beer's out, I'm sorry to say, and there's hardly enough soda-water for
to-night,' said Hummil.

'What filthy bad management!' Spurstow snarled.

'Can't help it. I've written and wired; but the trains don't come
through regularly yet. Last week the ice ran out,--as Lowndes knows.'

'Glad I didn't come. I could ha' sent you some if I had known, though.
Phew! it's too hot to go on playing bumblepuppy.' This with a savage
scowl at Lowndes, who only laughed. He was a hardened offender.

Mottram rose from the table and looked out of a chink in the shutters.

'What a sweet day!' said he.

The company yawned all together and betook themselves to an aimless
investigation of all Hummil's possessions,--guns, tattered novels,
saddlery, spurs, and the like. They had fingered them a score of times
before, but there was really nothing else to do.

'Got anything fresh?' said Lowndes.

'Last week's Gazette of India, and a cutting from a home paper. My
father sent it out. It's rather amusing.'

'One of those vestrymen that call 'emselves M.P.'s again, is it?' said
Spurstow, who read his newspapers when he could get them.

'Yes. Listen to this. It's to your address, Lowndes. The man was making
a speech to his constituents, and he piled it on. Here's a sample: "And
I assert unhesitatingly that the Civil Service in India is the preserve
--the pet preserve--of the aristocracy of England. What does the
democracy--what do the masses--get from that country, which we have step
by step fraudulently annexed? I answer, nothing whatever. It is farmed
with a single eye to their own interests by the scions of the
aristocracy. They take good care to maintain their lavish scale of
incomes, to avoid or stifle any inquiries into the nature and conduct of
their administration, while they themselves force the unhappy peasant to
pay with the sweat of his brow for all the luxuries in which they are
lapped."' Hummil waved the cutting above his head. "Ear! 'ear!' said
his audience.

Then