In the midst of cheery converse with a non-moral and unphilosophic Professor of Moral Philosophy, a fat youth of the name of Augustus Grobble whose life was one long picturesque pose, he sprang to his feet, remarking:  “I go, Augustus, I am bidden to behold some prize Gosling-Greens or something, at 5 p.m., D.V. or D.T. or C.T. or L.S.D. or otherwise.  Perhaps it was S.T. which means ‘Standard Time,’ and as I said, I go, Augustus.”

Augustus Grobble was understood to return thanks piously....

“Taxi, Sahib?” inquired the messenger-boy at the door.

“Go to,” said the Professor.  “Also go call me a tikka-gharri[55] and select a very senior horse, blind, angular, withered, wilted, and answering to the name, most obviously, of Skin-and-Grief—­lest I be taken by the Grizzly-Goslings for a down-trodden plutocrat and a brother—­and not seen for the fierce and ’aughty oppressor that I am.”

  [55] Public conveyance.

“Sahib?”

“Tikka-gharri lao,[56] you lazy little ’ound!  Don’t I speak plain English?” The Professor made it a practice to “rot” when not working—­hoping thus even in India to retain sanity and the broad and wholesome outlook, for he was a very short-tempered person, easily roused to dangerous wrath.

  [56] Bring.

A carriage, upholding a pony who, in return, spasmodically moved the carriage which gave evidence of having been where moths break through and steal, lumbered into the Club garden, and the Professor, imploring the jehu not to let the pony “die on him” in the Hibernian sense of the expression, gingerly entered.

“Convey me to the gilded Potipharparian ’alls, Arthur,” said he.

“Sahib?”

“Why don’t you listen? Palangur Hill ki pas[57] And don’t forget you’ve to get me there at 5 p.m.  C.T. or S.T.—­I leave it to you, partner.”

  [57] To.

On arrival, the Professor concluded that if he had arrived at 5 p.m.  C.T. he ought to have come at 5 p.m.  S.T., or vice versa; as what he termed ‘the show’ was evidently about over.  Fortune favours all sorts of people.

His hostess, who looked as though she had come straight out of the Bible via Bond Street, and his host, who looked as though he had never come out of Petticoat Lane at all, both accused him of being unable to work out the problem of “Find Calcutta Time given the Standard Time,” and he professed to be proud to be able to acknowledge the truth of the compliment.

“Come and be presented to Meester and Meesers Carneelius Garsling-Green, M.P.,” said the lady, waddling before him; and her husband echoed:—­

“Oah, yess.  Come and be presented to Meester and Meesers Garsling-Green,” waddling after him.

Mr. Cornelius Gosling-Green, M.P., proved to be a tall, drooping, melancholy creature, with “Dundreary” whiskers, reach-me-down suit of thick cloth, wrong kind of tie, thickish boots, and no presence.  Without “form” and void.