“So I see they needn’t go to you for a character,” remarked Shafto.

“Oh, they are not all tarred with the same brush!  I have some good pals in the German Club—­fellows that are as straight as a die.  Is this your first journey out of England?”

“Yes, bar winter sports in Switzerland, when I was a kid.”

“Well, you will see a small bit of the world this trip; as soon as we collect the passengers at Marseilles, and once the awnings and the moon are up, things will begin to hum!”

“How do you mean hum?”

“We shall have sports, dances, concerts—­this has always been a gay ship, and the purser is a rare hustler.  We are due at Marseilles to-morrow morning, and we take in a cargo of the lazy luxurious folk who abhor ’the Bay,’ and have travelled overland.  I’d have done the same, only I’m frightfully hard up; three months at home, having a ‘good time,’ comes pretty expensive!”

“I hope you will be a fixture in Rangoon?”

“I’m afraid not; I’m going straight up to Mandalay, but I shall be down later, and meanwhile I’ll do my best to settle you in that chummery.  I’ll send a line to FitzGerald of my service; he lives there; a rattling Irishman, with lots of brains in his handsome head, and a good sort; there’s also Roscoe, a clever oddity, and MacNab of the Irrawaddy Flotilla—­a wonderful golfer.  Most of the fellows in business in Rangoon are Scotch.  Murray was in the same chummery; there were four chums till May.”

“And Number Four has gone home?”

“He has—­to his long home, worse luck; he broke his neck fooling over a log jump.”

On this fresh October morning the Blankshire lay moored at her usual berth in Marseilles harbour, and the overland passengers were streaming aboard in great numbers.

Hoskins and Shafto, leaning over the bulwarks, watched the long procession of travellers, followed by porters, bearing their light baggage.

“There are a good few, you see,” remarked Hoskins; “this is a popular ship and date.  We won’t have an empty berth—­anyway as far as the Canal.  Most of this crowd,” waving a hand, “these with maids and valets, are bound for Egypt; there will be a big contingent for Colombo and Southern India.  I’m a bit curious to see our own little lot.—­Ah! here comes one of them!”

He indicated a stout imposing person, who was majestically ascending the gangway.

“That’s Lady Puffle, the consort of one of our big wigs; very official and dignified, keeps old Fluffy in grand order.  The next, the tall handsome woman, is Mrs. Pomeroy, wife of the Judicial Commissioner, a real lady, and—­hullo! she has brought out a daughter!  Not, as far as I can see, up to her mother’s sample; too much nose and too much bone.  And next, we have Mrs. Flint, of Flint and Co., a big house.  She gives the best dinners in Rangoon.  The little fair lady with the small dog is Mrs. Maitland, wife of the General Commanding in Burma, and the one with her must be her sister, or sister-in-law.  Here comes the great Otto Bernhard, junior partner in the house of Bernhard Brothers; as you see, a fine, handsome man, with the most All Highest moustache; and also owns a heavenly tenor voice—­but I would not trust him farther than I could throw him!”