Eurasians -- Fiction; India -- History -- British occupation, 1765-1947 -- Fiction
They were a study to me in many ways. A little incident I recall. One
morning, going out of the hotel, my boots rather tarnished with the
everlasting mud—for as they told me that it always rains there except
when it snaws, there is always mud—I hailed a boy boot-black with cheeks
as red as ripe cherries. While he was doing his job, I asked a policeman
near by how much I should give him. “A penny,” he said. On handing this
to my little friend, he, raising his cap with all the politeness of a
polished courtier said, “Wad ye no gie me the other wing o’ that?” My
hair was so thick that his meaning did not penetrate my understanding
until he had bowed and gone, and I then realized his idea of the
necessity of two wings for anything to fly properly. One great mental
fault of mine is nearly always being a little behind time. My best
thoughts often come just after their opportunity. I was pleased with the
rosy cheeked lasses, so full of health and purity, and I think I rather
offended my wife by saying that if I was not already wifed I would try
to win one of Scotia’s fair daughters.
Then back to England, in a round of sight-seeing and visits among the
Britons, where, led by my wife, I was well received, though inwardly I
felt with some questioning as to my rank and station. This is the great
characteristic of the English. Their first question is, not what you are
as a man, in ability, attainments or morals, but what is your standing
or caste in “society.” And probably the newest made, the fledglings in
society, with the thinnest kind of blue blood in their veins, would be
the most exacting, whose pedigree would be greatly damaged by the
slightest investigation.
This society fad notion of the English, is worse than their oppressive
fogs, and, like the sight of a black pall at a funeral, making one tread
softly and speak in whispers. Some one, remarking of this, said that
when out calling the lady of the house came up close to her without
bowing, with a prying, inquisitive look, saying, “I really don’t know
who you are,” but after learning the rank of her caller she became
amiability itself. To give them their due, when once you are inside
their ring, and are acquainted, you know, they are very kind and
agreeable.
I had often read of the Arctic regions, and traveling to my humor
inclined, I suggested to my traveling companion that we go to the
extreme, or as far as we could, and see the contrast, if not of
Greenland’s icy mountains, then those of Norway, with India’s burning
sands. And a contrast it was, so much so that my oriental bones ached
with the cold, and I was glad when our steamer turned its prow southward
to come under the sun again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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