admitted my father, and my father had a hunting-crop in his hand, and
to the crop was attached a heavy thong. His first words left me in no
doubt as to his attitude. "So, sir," he thundered, "you are the
individual who has had the impertinence to pester my daughter with
your attentions. I am going to give you, sir, a lesson that you will
remember to the end of your life," and the crop was lifted.
Fortunately the room was crowded with furniture, so, crouching between
tables, and dodging behind sofas, I was able to elude the thong until
I had tugged my wig off. The spirit-gum manufactured in those days must
have been vastly superior to that made now, for nothing would induce
my whiskers to part company with my face. Yelling out my identity, in
spite of the hatter's tactlessly adhesive whiskers, I made one bolt
for the open window, having successfully evaded the whirling crop
every time, but it was a lamentably tame ending to a carefully planned
drama.

Remembering these family incidents, we decided that it would be as
well to abandon the idea of a visit to Government House by a
distinguished Rajput nobleman.

I may possibly have been unfortunate in my personal experiences of
Indian jugglers, but I have never seen them perform any trick that was
difficult of explanation. For instance, the greatly over-rated Mango
trick, as I have seen it, was an almost childish performance. Having
made his heap of sand, inserted the mango-stone, and watered it, the
juggler covered it with a large basket, and _put his hands under the
basket_. He did this between each stage of the growth of the tree.
The plants in their various stages of growth were, of course, twisted
round the inside of the basket, and he merely substituted one for
another.