“Biscuits,” I said with a flash of inspiration, and we chose three boxes of biscuits, and stuck again.

When the attendant produced a list of provisions kept, we got on better, and soon had two large wooden boxes packed with things that sounded as if they might taste good.  The only thing I do feel we have been extravagant in is mustard—­it is an enormous tin, and one doesn’t really eat such a vast deal of mustard.

The list finished and approved, I asked when our train came in.

“About 4.30,” said Boggley.  This was 9 p.m.

“What!” I cried, aghast, “Where are we going to sleep?”

Boggley waved his hands comprehensively.  “Anywhere,” he said; “we’ll see what the waiting-room is like.”

The waiting-room was like nothing I had ever seen before.  A large, dirty, barn-like apartment, with some cane seats arranged round the wall, and an attempt at a dressing-table, with a spotty looking-glass on it, in one corner.  One small lamp, smelling vilely, served to make darkness visible, and an old hag crouching at the door was the attendant spirit.  It doesn’t sound cheery, does it?  The bearer, Autolycus by name (I call him Autolycus not because he is a knave and witty, but because he is such a snapper-up of unconsidered trifles), made up a bed on one of the cane seats, and there, in that dreary and far from clean apartment, with horrible insects walking up the walls and doubtless carpeting the floor, with no lock on the door and unknown horrors without, I slept dreamlessly.  My last waking thought was, “I wish my mother could see me now!”

Boggley slept in the refreshment-room.  Autolycus had gone to the stationmaster and demanded a bed for “a first-class Commissioner Sahib,” and, so far does impudence carry one, got it.

I was awakened at 3 a.m., and the aged crone helped me to pack up my bedding.  I gave her a rupee, which afterwards I regretted when Autolycus pointed out she had stolen a sheet.

We crossed the Ganges in the grey dawn, a clammy fog shrouding everything.  Nothing was visible but a stretch of wan water, and one or two natives near the bank bathing in the holy river.  We were the only Europeans travelling, till at one station a nice old priest came in, of what nationality we couldn’t make out.  I was pondering it when I discovered that my bangle with the miniature, which I always wear, wasn’t on my wrist.  We looked up, and down, and round about, and then I shouted, “Why, there it is!” And there it was lying on the priest’s lap.  He looked so utterly dumbfoundered, poor dear man, and blushed all over his fat, good-natured face, and I, when I realized I had pointed an accusing finger, was also covered with confusion.  We tried to explain that it had come off with my glove, but he merely bowed repeatedly and made hurt ejaculations in some unknown tongue, so we were reduced to an uneasy silence.

About twelve o’clock we had breakfast in the refreshment-room of a station.  We had wired for it, so it was ready.  First we got ham and eggs.  The ham was evidently tinned, and the eggs were quite black.  I poked my share suspiciously and asked what made it so black.  “Pepper,” said Boggley, who was eating away quite placidly.