d, "_what_ have you got on you? And who--" She
paused and stared at the Inspector. "Good gracious!" she cried, "why,
it's Aubrey Hamilton!"

THE BAGMAN'S PONY

When the regiment was at Delhi, a T.G. was sent to us from the 105th
Lancers, a bagman, as they call that sort of globe-trotting fellow that
knocks about from one place to another, and takes all the fun he can out
of it at other people's expense. Scott in the 105th gave this bagman a
letter of introduction to me, told me that he was bringing down a horse
to run at the Delhi races; so, as a matter of course, I asked him to
stop with me for the week. It was a regular understood thing in India
then, this passing on the T.G. from one place to another; sometimes he
was all right, and sometimes he was a good deal the reverse--in any
case, you were bound to be hospitable, and afterwards you could, if you
liked, tell the man that sent him that you didn't want any more from
him.

The bagman arrived in due course, with a rum-looking roan horse, called
the "Doctor"; a very good horse, too, but not quite so good as the
bagman gave out that he was. He brought along his own grass-cutter with
him, as one generally does in India, and the grass-cutter's pony, a sort
of animal people get because he can carry two or three more of these
beastly clods of grass they dig up for horses than a man can, and
without much regard to other qualities. The bagman seemed a decentish
sort of chap in his way, but, my word! he did put his foot in it the
first night at mess; by George, he did! There was somehow an idea that
he belonged to a wine merchant business in England, and the Colonel
thought we'd better open our best cellar for the occasion, and so we
did; even got out the old Madeira, and told the usual story about the
number of times it had been round the Cape. The bagman took everything
that came his way, and held his tongue about it, which was rather
damping. At last, when it came to dessert and the Madeira, Carew, one of
our fellows, couldn't stand it any longer--after all, it _is_
aggravating if a man won't praise your best wine, no matter how little
you care about his opinion, and the bagman was supposed to be a
_connoisseur_.

"Not a bad glass of wine that," says Carew to him; "what do you think of
it?"

"Not bad," says the bagman, sipping it, "Think I'll show you something
better in this line if you'll come and dine with me in London when
you're home next."

"Thanks,