ry him back with a jump to a land of dark faces and burning sun
and red dust, and all the vivid sights of the East.

We are not starting on our great journey across India until the evening,
so we can wander at will through the broad clean streets, looking into
the magnificent shops that might be in any European town, and then we
can plunge into the native part, where we find narrow, busy bazaars that
might belong to the _Arabian Nights_.

Bombay was one of the first bits of India to belong to the English. The
Portuguese held it before then, and gave it to our nation as part of the
dower of Catherine of Braganza, the Portuguese princess who married
Charles II. You know the old saying, "trade follows the flag," and it
certainly did in Bombay, for the East India Company rented the city from
the king at L10 a year. The Company pushed forward all over the rest of
India year by year, and it was through their steady and persistent
advance in the country that the British finally occupied India--so later
on the saying was reversed, and "the flag followed trade," as it more
often does. But you know that story, every British boy does, the story
of Clive and Hastings, and later on of the Mutiny; it is a part of
English history and one of the most thrilling parts too.

Bombay is a city of trade; her immense docks receive ships of all sizes,
her wharves are laden with the produce of the world, her wide streets
are open to traffic of all descriptions, her public buildings are
splendid, her clubs and hotels palatial. Her merchants prosper and grow
rich, and build for themselves houses on Malabar Hill, the long ridge
above the town, which catches the sea-breezes. At one time that ridge
was looked upon as sacred to Europeans, but now the wealthy natives
settle there, and there is not room for all the poorer Europeans, who
have to be content with lower levels.

Stand still for a moment in this street, and look around. Here comes a
motor-car, and in it lolls a hugely fat man with a yellow skin, and that
crafty insolent look which marks the successful native trader; his thick
neck rolls in creases above his purple brocade coat. But they are not
all like this; some are thoughtful men who have given lakhs of rupees
for the public good.

What a contrast! Here is one of the poorest of the poor. A bullock-cart
comes along, drawn by two lean animals with their ribs sticking out. A
heavy yoke passes across their necks, but otherwise they have