tion only to honest, downright illness
worthy of the attention of a medico whose name stood in front of a
formidable array of honourable letters, too numerous for him to mention.
But even really great people are not always strictly consistent, and
occasionally make small lapses from the straight path of precedent--and
so this man of science deigned to cast an eye of interest upon the
ailment of X. That it should be worthy of notice at all was enough for
the companions of the now much-appreciated invalid, but when the great
man added to his notice by bestowing a classical name, expressions of
sympathy knew no bounds, and the unwonted solicitude was almost more
than the sufferer could bear with the dignified attitude of conscious
merit fitting to the occasion. Something rather _distingue_ had happened
to the place, something quite new. A vulgar complaint was a subject for
reprobation and not sympathy, as casting discredit on this salubrious
retreat, but a malady composed of two words out of the Greek Lexicon
conferred a distinction perhaps unknown to, and to be envied by, the
larger communities beyond the pass. The matter was most seriously
discussed, and the decision arrived at that X. wanted a change. Not
exactly that a change would do him good, but because, when he came back,
the change, from the place he went to, to his happy home in Pura Pura,
would work wonders for his health. As the doctor endorsed the former
part of the verdict, rather modifying it by suggesting, that there were
few conditions of health when a change would not be beneficial to a
hard-worked official, there remained nothing but to select the spot to
which X.--his leave once granted--must go. It would never, of course, do
that he should go to Penang, or even to Hong Kong or Japan, such an
expedition would be too ordinary and commonplace. It was felt that X.
should do something worthy of the occasion, and show his appreciation of
the place he lived in by going to one as similar in respect of people
and scenery as could be found, and so, when the person chiefly
concerned, knowing what was expected of him, suggested Java, the idea
was accepted, and Java it was settled to be. And that night at the Club
there was a long sitting, and Manop, the patient barman, had to record
the disappearance of many extra "stengahs,"[1] as the matter was
discussed in all its bearings. Those of the community who had been to
Java recalled their experiences and recollections o