eir line of white-robed servants. These were all
dying to speak at once, but had each to wait his turn and give his
account of how the thief had come in, how he was seen, and what he was
doing when the alarm was given.

With this veracious account of an inglorious adventure I will draw
another day's journal to its close, and if the reader is not asleep, we
will now proceed to consider the subject of snipe shooting.

CHAPTER XVII

[Illustration]

December ...--We left "Locksley Hall" at 7.30, and D. came to station to
see us off and to give last instructions to the servants about catering
for us. We have to train all night till two in the morning, then shoot
duck and snipe at an out of the way tank, get back to train at twelve,
and then home after another day and night in train. A long journey for a
small shoot, but for R. the shoot is only a minor consideration. All
along the road he stops at stations and gets reports front contractors
and workers on the line, and generally sees that the line is in working
order. His assistant engineer comes with his own carriage. R., as
senior, can take the tail of train with our carriage so that he can
watch the track as we jog along. It's a nice slow train, and you think
you could walk beside it up the hills, but in reality you have to go at
a gentle trot.

Bangalore Station was a sight for a tenderfoot--brim full of colour and
types. Half in shadow half in light, as if several theatrical companies
were on tour in their costumes--a company, say of The Merchant of
Venice, another of The Cingalee, and a Variety Show or two. There were
sellers of green bananas and soda water and native sweet cakes in all
the colours you can think of, and British soldiers in khaki and pith
helmets, and everyone running about with properties and luggage on their
heads and in their hands.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This is, to my mind, a luxurious way of travelling. Both carriages have
berths, bathroom, and kitchen, all very diminutive except the berths.
Our kitchen would hardly hold one European, but holds at least three
natives. At five and a half miles an hour you can do all sorts of
things, paint or snooze, or, as I prefer to do on this day, sit in a
comfortable arm-chair with feet in the sun on the after platform and
watch the line running away behind into the vanishing point.

R.'s assistant, H., is in our carriage, and these two pull out a