But to return to the day's work. We are early risers, and six o'clock every morning finds the people astir. After a cup of tea I commence the day by walking round the town. Just now we have an Indian superintendent of public works engaged in repairing buildings, and transforming an old police-lines into a hospital. There is a sum of money allotted for the completion of each piece of work, and this amount must on no account be exceeded. It behoves one to keep both eyes open that this latter proviso is not lost sight of. From the superintendent I wander through the streets and note that the sweepers are doing their work in keeping the town clean. If the environments of a house are found to be in a filthy state--this happens seldom--I just say: "Tell the owner to come to the office." This means that he is "for it" later on in the day. We do not argue about such matters in the street. [Illustration: A STREET IN ZEILA.] I generally visit the pier last of all, and anxiously look to see if the sea is attacking its foundations in any way. The D.C. is responsible for the pier, and there is always something going wrong with it. At present one Indian merchant has several thousand bags of salt stacked at one end, and I am in terror that this great weight will cause the foundations to collapse. When interviewed the merchant is always trying to do something about it, and something else is preventing him from doing it. He is undefeatable. I can only hope that when a big sea comes it will wash away the salt without doing any further damage. Breakfast time comes at eight or eight-thirty o'clock, and at nine, sometimes earlier, one is in the office. First of all the cases come on. Divorce and matrimonial affairs are, as a rule, after a preliminary hearing, sent to the Kathi; but the aftermath of all such cases, such as the failure to pay mehr, or maintenance, is always cleared up by the poor D.C. Other cases are of a great variety, comprising political, civil, and criminal matters. There are also many petitions. Probably the contractor who controls the meat market complains that he cannot carry on any longer unless the dues payable by him to government are reduced. He is really the market master, and recoups himself for the expenses incurred by charging the butchers a small fee for each animal killed and sold. This man makes as much fuss over the small fee he is called on to pay as if it were millions of rupees instead of tens. Therefore, we must check the animals slaughtered daily, over a given period, to enable us to compare his receipts with the fees we collect, plus his other expenditure. We do not take his word; we send our own man to collect these figures.