did not like to order a drink for himself. So he tried to keep awake and
hide his yawns while listening to a prosy monologue on insects until the
Residency carriage came to take Major Norton away.

When his guest had left, the Colonel entered the anteroom heaving a sigh
of relief.

"Phew! thank God that's over!" he exclaimed piously. "Really, Norton
becomes more of a bore every day. I'm sick to death of hearing the
life-story of every Indian insect for the hundredth time. I'll dream of
_coleoptera_ and Polly 'optera and other weird beasties to-night."

The other officers looked up and laughed. Ross rose from the
bridge-table and said:

"Come and take my place, sir; we've finished the rubber. Have a drink;
you want something to cheer you up after that infliction. Boy!
whiskey-soda Commanding Sahib _ke wasté lao_. (Bring a whiskey and soda
for the Commanding officer.)"

"You've my entire sympathy, Colonel," said Major Hepburn, the Second in
Command. "It's my turn to ask the Resident to dinner next. I feel
tempted to go on the sick-list to escape it."

"I say, sir, I've got a good idea," said an Irish subaltern named Daly,
who was seated at the bridge-table. "Couldn't we pass a resolution at
the next Mess meeting that in future no guests are ever to be asked to
dinner? That will save us from our weekly penance."

The others laughed; but the Colonel, whose sense of humour was not his