ponies conveyed him to the hotel--a
poor building on a lovely site, which bristled with possibilities.

The famous back terrace of rooms was at the further side of the
courtyard to the entrance, and, once duly installed, X. was delighted
with the outlook. Just immediately below the window was the railway
line--below that rushed a large, broad, shallow mountain river in which
half the native population seemed to be bathing. Beyond these stretched
an unbroken view of picturesque villages, whose scattered red-roofed
houses peeped here and there from among the palms and other graceful
trees. Beyond again, the mountain--with five distinct sugar-loaf tops,
tops which had to be watched while counting as they emerged and
disappeared in turn from out and in the hanging land of clouds. Yes, the
view had certainly not been overrated, and X. was glad he came.

Usoof and Abu refused to consider anything beautiful, and could only
exclaim with horror at the bathers in the river, who evidently shocked
their ideas of propriety. Their master was not surprised at their
comments, but his own views were broader and his moral perceptions
perhaps blunter, and experience had taught him the propriety of the
injunction concerning Rome and the Romans. But it was nevertheless quite
certain that the most moderate London County Councillor could not have
borne the sight of that river without a shock to his system. After
revelling in the view from the verandah a black coat was donned for
dinner, which the wearer subsequently found rendered him conspicuous,
and he then crossed the courtyard to the dining room prepared to dine
well off fresh fish, mutton, and other products of the country. Although
the soup was on the table cooling, the company sat outside round a
little table drinking gin and bitters. Not wanting any, X. as Clark
Russell would say, hung in the wind, and then after a few
seconds--seeing that dinner was certainly ready--seated himself. This
isolated action rendered him almost as conspicuous as his coat, which
was also alone in its sombre glory. Presently others followed the
stranger's example, and the meal began. Then ensued a period of
disillusion. There was no punkah, the glare of the lamplight was
blinding, and the food--all of it--coarse, greasy and cold. The soup
which had been waiting was of the variety known as tinned, an old
acquaintance which X. had hoped to have left in the jungle until his
return. This, and other messes, wou