en, after their meal, she sat,
one foot tucked under her, on the leather camp-sofa, rolling
cigarettes for her brother, her low forehead puckered beneath the
dark curls as she twiddled the papers. She stuck out her rounded
chin when the tobacco stayed in place, and, with a gesture as true as
a school-boy's throwing a stone, tossed the finished article across
the room to Martyn, who caught it with one hand, and continued his
talk with Scott. It was all 'shop,'--canals and the policing of
canals; the sins of villagers who stole more water than they had paid
for, and the grosser sin of native constables who connived at the
thefts; of the transplanting bodily of villages to newly-irrigated
ground, and of the coming fight with the desert in the south when the
Provincial funds should warrant the opening of the long-surveyed Luni
Protective Canal System. And Scott spoke openly of his great desire
to be put on one particular section of the work where he knew the
land and the people, and Martyn sighed for a billet in the Himalayan
foot-hills, and spoke his mind of his superiors, and William rolled
cigarettes and said nothing, but smiled gravely on her brother
because he was happy.

At ten Scott's horse came to the door, and the evening was ended.

The lights of the two low bungalows in which the daily paper was
printed showed bright across the road. It was too early to try to
find sleep, and Scott drifted over to the editor. Raines, stripped
to the waist like a sailor at a gun, lay in a long chair, waiting
for night telegrams. He had a theory that if a man did not stay by
his work all day and most of the night he laid himself open to fever;
so he ate and slept among his files.

'Can you do it?' he said drowsily. 'I didn't mean to bring you over.'

'About what? I've been dining at the Martyns'.'

'The famine, of course, Martyn's warned for it, too. They're taking
men where they can find 'em. I sent a note to you at the Club just
now, asking if you could do us a letter once a week from the
south--between two and three columns, say. Nothing sensational, of
course, but just plain facts about who is doing what, and so forth.
Our regular rates--ten rupees a column.'

'Sorry, but it's out of my line,' Scott answered, staring absently at
the map of India on the wall. 'It's rough on Martyn--very. Wonder
what he'll do with his sister. Wonder what the deuce they'll do with
me? I've no famine experience. This is the first I've heard