Manchester; half-way over, you begin to discuss
American custom-houses and New York hotels; by the time you reach Sandy
Hook, the talk is all of quick trains west and the shortest route
from Philadelphia to New Orleans. You grow by slow stages into the new
attitude; at Malta you are still regretting Europe; after Aden, your
mind dwells most on the hire of punkah-wallahs and the proverbial
toughness of the dak-bungalow chicken.

"How's the plague at Bombay now?" an inquisitive passenger inquired of
the Captain at dinner our last night out. "Getting any better?"

Lady Meadowcroft's thumb dived between her fingers again. "What! is
there plague in Bombay?" she asked, innocently, in her nervous fashion.

"Plague in Bombay!" the Captain burst out, his burly voice resounding
down the saloon. "Why, bless your soul, ma'am, where else would you
expect it? Plague in Bombay! It's been there these five years. Better?
Not quite. Going ahead like mad. They're dying by thousands."

"A microbe, I believe, Dr. Boyell," the inquisitive passenger observed
deferentially, with due respect for medical science.

"Yes," the ship's doctor answered, helping himself to an olive. "Forty
million microbes to each square inch of the Bombay atmosphere."

"And we are going to Bombay!" Lady Meadowcroft exclaimed, aghast.

"You must have known there was plague there, my dear," Sir Ivor put in,
soothingly, with a deprecating glance. "It's been in all the papers. But
only the natives get it."

The thumb uncovered itself a little. "Oh, only the natives!" Lady
Meadowcroft echoed, relieved; as if a few thousand Hindus more or less
would hardly be missed among the blessings of British rule in India.
"You know, Ivor, I never read those DREADFUL things in the papers. _I_
read the Society news, and Our Social Diary, and columns that are headed
'Mainly About People.' I don't care for anything but the Morning Post
and the World and Truth. I hate horrors.... But it's a blessing to think
it's only the natives."

"Plenty of Europeans, too, bless your heart," the Captain thundered
out unfeelingly. "Why, last time I was in port, a nurse died at the
hospital."

"Oh, only a nurse--" Lady Meadowcroft began, and then coloured up
deeply, with a side glance at Hilda.

"And lots besides nurses," the Captain continued, positively delighted
at the terror he was inspiring. "Pucka Englishmen and Englishwomen. Bad
business this plague, Dr. Cumberledge! Catches particula