We talked politics,--the politics of Loaferdom that sees things
from the under side where the lath and plaster is not smoothed
off,--and we talked postal arrangements because my friend wanted
to send a telegram back from the next station to Ajmir, the turning-off
place from the Bombay to the Mhow line as you travel westward.
My friend had no money beyond eight annas which he wanted for dinner,
and I had no money at all, owing to the hitch in the Budget before
mentioned. Further, I was going into a wilderness where, though I
should resume touch with the Treasury, there were no telegraph
offices. I was, therefore, unable to help him in any way.
"We might threaten a Station-master, and make him send a wire on
tick," said my friend, "but that'd mean inquiries for you and for me,
and _I_'ve got my hands full these days. Did you say you were
travelling back along this line within any days?"
"Within ten," I said.
"Can't you make it eight?" said he. "Mine is rather urgent
business."
"I can send your telegrams within ten days if that will serve you," I
said.
Pages:
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127