"Sefen hundert and feefty rupees,"[11] said he uncompromisingly.

He was abrupt, blunt, and insulting. As we wanted transportation very
much--though not seven hundred and fifty rupees' worth--we persisted. He
offered an imperturbable take-it-or-leave-it stolidity. The motor truck
stood near. I said something technical about the engine; then something
more. He answered these remarks, though grudgingly. I suggested that it
took a mighty good driver to motor through this rough country. He
mentioned a particular hill. I proposed that we should try the station
restaurant for beer while he told me about it. He grunted, but headed
for the station.

For two hours we listened to the most blatant boasting. He was a great
driver; he had driven for M., the American millionaire; for the Chinese
Ambassador to France; for Grand-Duke Alexis; for the Kaiser himself! We
learned how he had been the trusted familiar of these celebrities, how
on various occasions--all detailed at length--he had been treated by
them as an equal; and he told us sundry sly, slanderous, and disgusting
anecdotes of these worthies, his forefinger laid one side his nose.
When we finally got him worked up to the point of going to get some
excessively bad photographs, "I haf daken myself!" we began to have
hopes. So we tentatively approached once more the subject of
transportation.

Then the basis of the trouble came out. One Davis, M.P. from England,
had also dealt with our friend. Davis, as we reconstructed him, was of
the blunt type, with probably very little feeling of democracy for those
in subordinate positions, and with, most certainly, a good deal of
insular and racial prejudice. Evidently a rather vague bargain had been
struck, and the motor had set forth. Then ensued financial wranglings