"You never could have gone
there," I said.
"You do not know WHAT I could do for a FRIEND," she said sweetly,
veiling her eyes in demure significance.
"Oh, come off the roof!" I said bluntly.
She could be obedient when it was necessary. She came off. Not
without her revenge. "Try to remember you are not at school with
the Stalkies," she said, and turned away.
I went to Bungloore,--not on her account, but my own. If you don't
know India, you won't know Bungloore. It's all that and more. An
egg dropped by a vulture, sat upon and addled by the Department.
But I knew the house and walked boldly in. A lion walked out of
one door as I came in at another. We did this two or three times--
and found it amusing. A large cobra in the hall rose up, bowed as
I passed, and respectfully removed his hood.
I found the poor old boy at the end of the passage. It might have
been the passage between Calais and Dover,--he looked so green, so
limp and dejected. I affected not to notice it, and threw myself
in a chair.
He gazed at me for a moment and then said, "Did you hear what the
chair was saying?"
It was an ordinary bamboo armchair, and had creaked after the usual
fashion of bamboo chairs. I said so.
He cast his eyes to the ceiling. "He calls it 'creaking,'" he
murmured. "No matter," he continued aloud, "its remark was not of
a complimentary nature.
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