nything in
way of exercise, bar a little mild riding and tennis for weeks. These
fellows are so busy all the week they put in the Sunday out of doors
shooting. Don't you wish we could too? You know everyone shoots here, it
is free--one of the reasons so many of our best young fellows come
out--men who haven't got ancestral or rented acres to shoot over.

Quarter past six, _mon ami_, was the hour fixed--I shudderd! By the
way, most of these men were dancing yesterday afternoon till 7-45--at
tennis previously, and at bridge till the small hours. Isn't that a rum
way of doing things--the ladies dancing till after 7 o'clock, then
dashing home to dress, and here at this bungalow to dinner at little
after eight.

Turned out at a quarter to six--fifteen minutes later than I
intended--fault of my "Boy"--tumbled into sort of shooting kit, and
partly dressed as I scooted along the avenue through the park--compound
I believe it should be called--the night watchman legging it along with
my bag and gun. I believe a jackal slunk past; it was getting
light--first jackal I've seen outside a menagerie--an event for persons
like us? When I got to the avenue gate where these other heroes were to
meet me, the deuce a shadow of one was there--only a native with
something on his head. So I did more dressing and cussing because I was
ten minutes behind time and thought they must have gone on.

Gradually the light increased. Dawn spread her rosy fingers over the
pepal fig trees that lined the road; the fruit-eating flying-foxes
sought their fragrant nests or roosts, and noiselessly folded their
membraneous wings till next time. And the native turned out to have a
luncheon basket on his head so my heart rose, and by and bye a big
fellow in khaki stravaiged out of the shades--a jovial, burly Britisher
called "Boots,"--told me he was hunting up the other fellows, and that
they had got home late last night--this about half an hour after time
fixed--so much for Indian punctuality hereaway! After some time another
shooter arrived behind two white oxen, taking both sides of the road in
a sort of big governess cart. Then Boots, who had hunted out a man
Monteith, came up in a third dumbie, as their ox carts are called here.
These go like anything if you can keep them in the straight, but the
oxen are dead set on bolting right or left up any road or compound
avenue. Boots told me: going to dine one night, he had been taken up to
three bungalows willy