e noise of traffic go on
all through the hot weather?" "Of course. The hot months are the busiest
in the year and money's tightest. You should see the brokers cutting
about at that season. Calcutta _can't_ stop, my dear sir." "What happens
then?" "Nothing happens; the death-rate goes up a little. That's all!"
Even in February, the weather would, up-country, be called muggy and
stifling, but Calcutta is convinced that it is her cold season. The
noises of the city grow perceptibly; it is the night side of Calcutta
waking up and going abroad. Jack in the sailors' coffee-shop is singing
joyously: "Shall we gather at the River--the beautiful, the beautiful,
the River?" There is a clatter of hoofs in the courtyard below. Some of
the Mounted Police have come in from somewhere or other out of the great
darkness. A clog-dance of iron hoofs follows, and an Englishman's voice
is heard soothing an agitated horse who seems to be standing on his
hind legs. Some of the Mounted Police are going out into the great
darkness. "What's on?" "A dance at Government House. The Reserve men are
being formed up below. They're calling the roll." The Reserve men are
all English, and big English at that. They form up and tramp out of the
courtyard to line Government Place, and see that Mrs. Lollipop's
brougham does not get smashed up by Sirdar Chuckerbutty Bahadur's
lumbering C-spring barouche with the two raw Walers. Very military men
are the Calcutta European Police in their set-up, and he who knows their
composition knows some startling stories of gentleman-rankers and the
like. They are, despite the wearing climate they work in and the wearing
work they do, as fine a five-score of Englishmen as you shall find east
of Suez.

Listen for a moment from the fire look-out to the voices of the night,
and you will see why they must be so. Two thousand sailors of fifty
nationalities are adrift in Calcutta every Sunday, and of these perhaps
two hundred are distinctly the worse for liquor. There is a mild row
going on, even now, somewhere at the back of Bow Bazar, which at
nightfall fills with sailormen who have a wonderful gift of falling foul
of the native population. To keep the Queen's peace is of course only a
small portion of Police duty, but it is trying. The burly president of
the lock-up for European drunks--Calcutta central lock-up is worth
seeing--rejoices in a sprained thumb just now, and has to do his work
left-handed in consequence. But his l