gharry containing X., and the two which followed with the suite and
luggage, drove backwards and forwards puzzling people as they went, for
such twistings and turnings argued ignorance of locality, and ignorance
of locality meant a globe-trotter, and yet no mail steamer was in, and,
again, no globe trotter would be followed by two Malays. And presently
he again endeavoured to explain where he wanted to go in forcible
Malay--this made the problem more difficult--till the passers by, mostly
cooks going to market, gave it up as one too deep, or perhaps too
trivial, for solution. The morning drive thus lasted till Europeans
early for office appeared in their smart buggies and fast trotting
horses, and one of these magnates of commerce coming to the rescue, it
was explained to the gharry syce that the Commander of all the Forces
occupied a house where Mr. So-and-so used to live, after the celebrated
Mr. So-and-so had sold off his racing stud and given up the
house--"didn't the driver remember?" "Yes, was not Omad the chief syce"
to the gentleman alluded to? At this the driver exclaimed, "of course,"
and whipping up his pony, with a withering look at his face, which
implied "if only he had had the sense to tell me that before," he drove
direct to one of the largest and most imposing mansions of the town.

Saved from the hotels of Singapore, where bewildered travellers grumble
and strange-looking jungle-wallahs come down to drink, X. felt all the
half-dormant memories of civilization return to him, as, passing the
sentry, he entered the spacious hall and received a kindly welcome from
his host.

Having, as the books say, removed the traces of his journey, no very
palpable ones in this case, since washing is practicable and customary
on board s.s. _Malacca_, X. joined his host at breakfast and was
informed of the programme of the day--consisting of an afternoon drive,
dining out in the evening, and thence to hear the regimental band play
by moonlight in the gardens. What a gay place Singapore seemed to X.,
who nightly dined alone, and to whom the sound of a band was a memory of
bygone days--and a band by moonlight too. Yes, that also had memories
all its own. On moonlight nights he is wont to sit on the verandah and
listen to the drowsy monotonous singing of the Malays who dwell in the
villages below his hill. Very agreeable is that chanting sound as it
ascends, telling of companionship and content, although for that very
reas