is permanent, like service under the Sircar, is worth many rupees a
month in India.

The engagement of a first Boy, therefore, is a momentous crisis,
fraught with fat contentment and a good digestion, or with unrest,
distraction, bad temper, and a ruined constitution. But,
unfortunately, we approach this epoch in a condition of original
ignorance. There is not even any guide or handbook of Boys which we
may consult. The Griffin a week old has to decide for himself
between not a dozen specimens, but a dozen types, all strange, and
each differing from the other in dress, complexion, manner, and even
language. As soon as it becomes known that the new saheb from
England is in need of a Boy, the levee begins. First you are waited
upon by a personage of imposing appearance. His broad and dignified
face is ornamented with grey, well-trimmed whiskers. There is no
lack of gold thread on his turban, an ample cumberbund envelopes his
portly figure, and he wears canvas shoes. He left his walking-cane
at the door. His testimonials are unexceptionable, mostly signed by
mess secretaries; and he talks familiarly, in good English, of
Members of Council. Everything is most satisfactory, and you
inquire, timidly, what salary he would expect. He replies that that
rests with your lordship: in his last appointment he had Rs. 35 a
month, and a pony to ride to market. The situation is now very
embarrassing. It is not only that you feel you are in the presence
of a greater man than yourself, but that you know HE feels it. By
far the best way out of the difficulty is to accept your relative
position, and tell him blandly that when you are a commissioner
saheb, or a commander-in-chief, he shall be your head butler. He
will understand you, and retire with a polite assurance that that day
is not far distant.