up, and a man entered, mopping his head. He was
editor of the one daily paper at the capital of a province of
twenty-five million natives and a few hundred white men, and as his
staff was limited to himself and one assistant, his office hours ran
variously from ten to twenty a day.

'Hi, Raines; you're supposed to know everything,' said Martyn,
stopping him. 'How's this Madras "scarcity" going to turn out?'

'No one knows as yet. There's a message as long as your arm coming in
on the telephone. I've left my cub to fill it out. Madras has owned
she can't manage it alone, and Jimmy seems to have a free hand in
getting all the men he needs. Arbuthnot's warned to hold himself in
readiness.'

'"Badger" Arbuthnot?'

'The Peshawur chap. Yes, and the _Pi_ wires that Ellis and Clay have
been moved from the North-West already, and they've taken half a
dozen Bombay men, too. It's pukka famine, by the looks of it.'

'They're nearer the scene of action than we are; but if it comes to
indenting on the Punjab this early, there's more in this than meets
the eye,' said Martyn.

'Here to-day and gone to-morrow. Didn't come to stay for ever,' said
Scott, dropping one of Marryat's novels, and rising to his feet.
'Martyn, your sister's waiting for you.'

A rough gray horse was backing and shifting at the edge of the
verandah, where the light of a kerosene-lamp fell on a brown calico
habit and a white face under a gray felt hat.

'Right, O,' said Martyn. 'I'm ready. Better come and dine with us if
you've nothing to do, Scott. William, is there any dinner in the
house?'

'I'll go home first and see,' was the rider's answer. 'You can drive
him over--at eight, remember.'

Scott moved leisurely to his room, and changed into the evening-dress
of the season and the country: spotless white linen from head to
foot, with a broad silk cummerbund. Dinner at the Martyns' was a
decided improvement on the goat-mutton, twiney-tough fowl, and
tinned entrees of the Club. But it was a great pity Martyn could not
afford to send his sister to the Hills for the hot weather. As an
Acting District Superintendent of Police, Martyn drew the magnificent
pay of six hundred depreciated silver rupees a month, and his little
four-roomed bungalow said just as much. There were the usual
blue-and-white striped jail-made rugs on the uneven floor; the usual
glass studded Amritsar _phulkaris_ draped to nails driven into the
flaking whitewash of the walls; the usu