ght, sir!")

"You will find some brushes in my room."

"_Bahut acha, Sahib_." ("Very good, sir!")

I left. At six p.m. when I returned to my quarters I found Chanden Sing
still polishing my footgear with all his might. He had been at it the
whole day and had used for the purpose my best hair and clothes brushes.

"Oh, you _budmash! crab log, pagal!_" ("Oh! you bad character! bad man,
fool!") I exclaimed, disgusted, making as much display as possible of the
only three or four words I then knew of Hindustani. I snatched the
blackened articles of toilet out of his hands, while he, with an air of
wounded feelings, pointed out the wonderful results he had achieved.

[Illustration: MY START FROM NAINI TAL]

It was clear that Chanden Sing was not much of a valet, neither was he a
master at opening soda-water bottles. He generally managed to give you a
spray bath if he did not actually shoot the flying cork in your face. It
was owing to one (by no means the first) of these accidents that Chanden
Sing, having hit me full, was a few days later flung bodily out of the
front door. I am very adverse to the habit of punishing the natives
injudiciously and unjustly, but I believe that firm if not too severe a
punishment administered in time is absolutely necessary with native
servants, and generally saves much trouble and unpleasantness in the end.
Anyhow Chanden Sing, none the worse, returned the next day to fetch his
cricket stump which he had forgotten in his hurried and involuntary
departure. He seized this opportunity to offer his humblest apologies for
his clumsiness, and produced the following letter which he had got
written in English by a Babu in the Bazaar:

"DEAR SIR,--I am a stupid man, but I hear you intend to take two
Gourkha soldiers with you to Tibet. I am a good and very _stout_
man and therefore far superior to any Gourkha. Please employ me.

"Your faithful servant,

"CHANDEN SING."

This was touching, and I forgave him and allowed him to stay. He improved
as time went on, and after a while became quite tolerable. One morning
Mr. Larkin called when Chanden Sing happened to be about.

"Who is that?" said Larkin.

"That is my bearer."

"But he is not a bearer! He was once a policeman, and a smart fellow too.
He worked out a good case in his own village and had many people arrested
and convicted for theft. As a reward they sacked him."

"I am thinking of taking him with me."

"