The first thing I saw was that the “Doctor’s” stall was empty.

“How’s this?” I said to the groom; “where’s Mr. Leggett’s horse?”

“The sahib has taken him away this morning.”

I began to have some notion then of what my I.O.U. was worth.

“The sahib has left his grass-cutter and his pony,” said the sais, who probably had as good a notion of what was up as I had.

“All right, send for the grass-cutter,” I said.

The fellow came up, in a blue funk evidently, and I couldn’t make anything of him.  Sahib this, and sahib that, and salaaming and general idiotcy—­or shamming—­I couldn’t tell which.  I didn’t know a nigger then as well as I do now.

“This is a very fishy business,” I thought to myself, “and I think it’s well on the cards the grass-cutter will be out of this to-night on his pony.  No, by Jove, I’ll see what the pony’s good for before he does that.  Is the grass-cutter’s pony there?” I said to the sais.

“He is there, sahib, but he is only a kattiawa tattoo,” which is the name for a common kind of mountain pony.

I had him out, and he certainly was a wretched-looking little brute, dun with a black stripe down his back, like all that breed, and all bony and ragged and starved.

“Indeed, he is a gareeb kuch kam ki nahin,” said the sais, meaning thereby a miserable beast, in the most intensified form, “and not fit to stand in the sahib’s stable.”

All the same, just for the fun of the thing, I put the grass-cutter up on him, and told him to trot him up and down.  By George! the pony went like a flash of lightning!  I had him galloped next; same thing—­fellow could hardly hold him.  I opened my eyes, I can tell you, but no matter what way I looked at him I couldn’t see where on earth he got his pace from.  It was there anyhow, there wasn’t a doubt about that.  “That’ll do,” I said, “put him up.  And you just stay here,” I said to the grass-cutter; “till I hear from Mr. Leggett where you’re to go to.  Don’t leave Delhi till you get orders from me.”

It got about during the day that the bagman had disappeared, and had had a soft thing of it as far as I was concerned.  The 112th were dining with us that night, and they all set to work to draw me after dinner about the business—­thought themselves vastly witty over it.

“Hullo Paddy, so you’re the girl he left behind him!” “Hear he went off with two suits of your clothes, one over the other.”  “Cheer up, old man; he’s left you the grass-cutter and the pony, and what he leaves must be worth having, I’ll bet!” and so on.

I suppose I’d had a good deal more than my share of the champagne, but all of a sudden I began to feel pretty warm.

“You’re all d——­d funny,” I said, “but I daresay you’ll find he’s left me something that is worth having.”

“Oh, yes!” “Go on!” “Paddy’s a great man when he’s drunk,” and a lot more of the same sort.