Sickness does not matter, because it's all in the day's work, and if you die
another man takes over your place and your office in the eight hours between
death and burial. Nothing matters except Home furlough and acting allowances,
and these only because they are scarce. This is a slack, kutcha country where
all men work with imperfect instruments; and the wisest thing is to take no
one and nothing in earnest, but to escape as soon as ever you can to some
place where amusement is amusement and a reputation worth the having.
But this Boy--the tale is as old as the Hills--came out, and took all things
seriously. He was pretty and was petted. He took the pettings seriously, and
fretted over women not worth saddling a pony to call upon. He found his new
free life in India very good.
It DOES look attractive in the beginning, from a Subaltern's point of view--
all ponies, partners, dancing, and so on. He tasted it as the puppy tastes the
soap. Only he came late to the eating, with a growing set of teeth. He had no
sense of balance--just like the puppy--and could not understand why he was not
treated with the consideration he received under his father's roof. This hurt
his feelings.
He quarrelled with other boys, and, being sensitive to the marrow, remembered
these quarrels, and they excited him.
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