‘My mislemembers,’ said Tally Ho. ‘What do ’ose memsahibs goin’ lound on de wheels, dey’re velly ugly, dey makle my’s head ache--tell dem to ’top, Kotah Lal,’ and he indicated with a stumpy brown forefinger two dashing young females on the inevitable bicycle. ‘They go thus because after them comes a big bad god, and so perchance they will escape,’ said Kotah Lal, with a glimmer of a smile on his impassive features. ‘For why are deir leggies one on each side?’ said the irrepressible Tally Ho loudly, as another dame flew by; ‘it is not so in my country; are de wheels alive, Kotah Lal?’ ‘It may be so; thy servant is a stranger in this land, Sahib, where all men seem possessed of devils, so fast they run to do naught all the day long. But the Doctor Sahib on the big ship did tell me that in this country there be a great and bad spirit called Indi-Gesti-Un, who pursues men to their undoing, so that they run ever faster to escape.’ ‘Where does he live, Kotah Lal?’ said Tally Ho, concernedly. Kotah Lal placed his hand upon the regions of his middle, and smiled mournfully. This seemed to supply Tally Ho with a fresh idea. ‘Kotah Lal,’ he said suddenly, thrusting his small brown fists deeply into the pockets of his holland knickers, ‘what is dere for my’s tiffin? Is dere cully and lice, allee samee as on de big ship?’ ‘The Sahib commanded and the order has gone forth; without doubt there be these things for the Sahib’s lunch.’ ‘Velly dood, my tinks my’s empty.’ Tally Ho withdrew one hand from his pocket, and passed it meditatively over his small stomach. ‘Which is de way, Kotah Lal?’ ‘It will be necessary to walk down the market of the dried grasses, and through the square where are the four great lions that the Sahib looked upon with favour yesterday, to where the trains run in the smokey black hole under the ground. So said the Sahib in the blue clothes of whom I asked anon.’ ‘Turn on,’ said Tally Ho; ‘my’s _velly_ empty, my wiss Foo Ching was in Ingeliland; he made exkullent dood chow-chow; my loves Foo Ching, Kotah Lal.’ Foo Ching, the Chinese cook of the steamer which had two days before achieved the honour of safely bearing from India, and landing one ‘Tally Ho,’ baptismally known as Geoffrey Standing Blount, was that young man’s latest bosom friend, and at that time mainly responsible for the eccentricities of his speech. ‘My wiss my was corpington (corpulent), like Foo Ching; Foo Ching was velly nice and corpington, and my’s _velly_ empty.’ Tally Ho, who usually carried his head loftily, drooped it to contemplate mournfully his small person, and in so doing butted it into the stomach of an elderly commercial hurrying to his mid-day meal.