drew's dinner last night, begun on _punch a la
Romaine_, continued on neat whisky in _quaichs_ and finished on port,
liqueurs, champagne and haphazard brandy-and-sodas, whisky-and-sodas,
and any old thing that was handy; and eighthly, that he had had a quart
of beer instead of the brandy-cocktail for _choti hazri_.

But that could easily be remedied by having the beer now. The General
had the beer and soon wished that he hadn't, for it made him feel very
bad indeed.

However, a man must do his dooty, ill or well, and when the
Brigade-Major sent up to remind the General that the train went at
seven, he was answered by the General himself and a hint that he was
officious. During the brief train-journey the General slumbered.

On mounting his horse, the General was compelled to work out a little
sum.

If one has four fingers there must be three inter-finger spaces, eh?
Granted. Then how the devil are four reins to go into three places
between four fingers, eh? Absurd idea, an' damsilly. However, till the
matter was referred to the War Office and finally settled, one could put
two reins between two fingers or pass one outside the lill' finger,
what? But the General hated compromises.... The mounted orderly met the
General, saluted and directed him to the entrance to the tree-encircled
camp and parade-ground.

At the entrance, the General, leading, reined in so sharply as to throw
his horse on its haunches--his mouth fell open, his mottled face went
putty-coloured, and each hair that he possessed appeared to bristle.

He uttered a deep groan, rubbed his eyes, emitted a yell, wheeled round
and galloped for dear life, with a cry, nay a scream, of "_I've got 'em
at last_," followed by his utterly bewildered but ever-faithful
Brigade-Major, who had seen nothing but foliage, scrub, and cactus. To
Gungapur the General galloped without drawing rein, took to his bed,
sent for surgeon and priest--and became a teetotaller.

And what had he seen?

The affair is wrapped in mystery.

The Brigade-Major says nothing because he knows nothing, as it happens,
and the Corps declared it was never inspected. Father Ignatius knows
what the General saw, or thinks he saw, and so does the Surgeon-General,
but neither is in the habit of repeating confessions and confidences.
What Jobler, at the keyhole, understood him to say he had seen, or
thought he had seen, is not to be believed.

Judge of it.

"I rode into the dem place and what di