turned us back from Degumber State,'" said the smaller of the two.
He was the man I had met in the Mhow train, and his fellow was the
red-bearded man of Marwar Junction. There was no mistaking the eyebrows
of the one or the beard of the other.

I was not pleased, because I wished to go to sleep, not to squabble with
loafers. "What do you want?" I asked.

"Half an hour's talk with you, cool and comfortable, in the office,"
said the red-bearded man. "We'd _like_ some drink,--the Contrack doesn't
begin yet, Peachey, so you needn't look,--but what we really want is
advice. We don't want money. We ask you as a favour, because we found
out you did us a bad turn about Degumber State."

I led from the press-room to the stifling office with the maps on the
walls, and the red-haired man rubbed his hands. "That's something
like," said he. "This was the proper shop to come to. Now, Sir, let
me introduce you to Brother Peachey Carnehan, that's him, and Brother
Daniel Dravot, that is _me_, and the less said about our professions
the better, for we have been most things in our time--soldier,
sailor, compositor, photographer, proof-reader, street-preacher, and
correspondents of the 'Backwoodsman' when we thought the paper wanted
one. Carnehan is sober, and so am I. Look at us first, and see that's
sure. It will save you cutting into my talk. We'll take one of your
cigars apiece, and you shall see us light up."

I watched the test. The men were absolutely sober, so I gave them each a
tepid whisky-and-soda.

"Well _and_ good," said Carnehan of the eyebrows, wiping the froth