nds amusement in practising his English on me. When he sees G. come
through the compound, he bounds to my room, holds up the _chick_ and
announcing "Mees come," retires, stiff with pride at his knowledge of
the language.

I have learned a few useful Hindustani words. _Qui hai_ means roughly,
"Is anyone there?" and you cry that instead of ringing a bell, and it
brings the instant response "_Huzoor_," and a servant springs from
nowhere to do your bidding. _Lao_ means "bring" and _jao_ "go." You
never say "please," and you learn the words in a cross tone--that is,
if you want to be really Anglo-Indian. Radical M.P.s of course will
learn "please" at once, if there is such a word in the language,
which I doubt. One nice globe-trotting old lady, anxious, like me, to
conciliate the natives, was having a cup of chocolate at Peliti's, and
she insisted on sending out to see if the _tikka-gharry wallah_ would
like a cup!

A _tikka-gharry_ is a thing like a victoria, hired by the hour. There
are first, second, and third class _tikka-gharries_. The first class
have two horses, the second one horse, and the third is closed, and,
having no springs, is a terrible vehicle indeed. The drivers of these
carriages have, as a rule, long whiskers, and are dressed in khaki.
They have bags of provender for the horses tied behind the conveyance,
where also precariously hangs another man who might be the
twin-brother of the driver. I don't know why he is there, but there he
is.

G. and I love to set out in a _tikka-gharry_ and practise our
Hindustani. Starting early when it is fairly cool--Indian cold weather
mornings are the most wonderful things, so fresh and so bright and so
blue--G. starts us off at a mad gallop by shouting _Juldi jao_, which
I have to calm down with _Asti asti_ (slower). When we reach Peliti's
we cry _Roko_ (stop), and get out to buy caramels, chocolates, and
cakes for tea. Peliti has a peculiarly delicious kind of chocolate
cake, the recipe for which I wish he would confide to Fuller or
Buszard. But it isn't the European shops, good as they are, that
occupy our mornings. Much more fascinating haunts await us, the New
Market and the China Bazaar. The former is a kind of arcade which
contains everything that any reasonable person could require; fragrant
fruit and flowers, fresh-smelling vegetables, and the wares of butcher
and baker and candlestick-maker, all laid out on booths and stalls for
the world to choose from.