hristmas, and, for the next week, was the busiest person at
Muktiarbad.

Tommy, claiming assistance from his chum, Jack, was ready to draw up a
programme for a gala week. There would have to be polo, tennis, and golf
tournaments if the residents entered into the spirit of enjoyment and
were sporting enough to fill the Station with guests.

"Who do you suppose will care to come to a dead-and-alive hole like
this?" Jack remarked, throwing cold water, to begin with, on his
friend's enthusiasms. "It will be a waste of energy especially when they
are having a race meeting at Hazrigunge!"

"Even this dead-and-alive hole might be made entertaining if we put our
shoulders to the wheel."

"There are not enough of us. You might count the doctor out--he's away.
Meredith is no good. His wife's left him for the present and he lives in
the jungles with a gun. With half-a-dozen men, one girl, and a host of
Mrs. Grundies, you are brave if you think you can manage to engineer a
good time. Take my advice, old son, and leave people to spend their time
as they please. After all, Christmas is a time for the kiddies; not old
stagers like you and me."

Jack's spirits were conspicuously below par, and there had been signs
and symptoms of boredom, reminiscent of Bobby Smart whenever he had been
seen in company with Mrs. Fox.

"Can't you work up some little interest?" Tommy asked impatiently. "It's
beastly selfish of you, to say the least of it."

"I might spend Christmas in town."

"I might have known that. I heard something last night about Mrs. Fox
having an invitation to spend Christmas with friends in Calcutta," was
the pointed rejoinder.

"Pity you did not think of it before."

"Chuck it, Jack!" said Tommy earnestly, putting a hand affectionately on
his friend's shoulder.

"I wish to God I could," was the gloomy reply. "It's so easy to get into
trouble, but so devilishly difficult to get out of it again, decently."

"I'd do it indecently, if it comes to that! You think it's 'playing the
game' to keep on with an affair of that sort? It's a damned low-down
sort of game, anyhow, with no rules to keep; so chuck it before worse
happens."

Jack lighted a cigarette deliberately and made no reply. His
good-looking, young face was looking lean and thoughtful; he had
suddenly changed from boyish youth to _blase_ middle age; the elasticity
of his nature was gone; his laugh was rarely heard, and he seemed to
keep out of the way of his