Plain Tales from the Hills | Page 8

ate a little, and came out of Sandhurst not so
high as he went in. Them there was an interval and a scene with his
people, who expected much from him. Next a year of living "unspotted
from the world" in a third-rate depot battalion where all the juniors
were children, and all the seniors old women; and lastly he came out to
India, where he was cut off from the support of his parents, and had no
one to fall back on in time of trouble except himself.
Now India is a place beyond all others where one must not take things
too seriously--the midday sun always excepted. Too much work and
too much energy kill a man just as effectively as too much assorted
vice or too much drink. Flirtation does not matter because every one is
being transferred and either you or she leave the Station, and never
return. Good work does not matter, because a man is judged by his
worst output and another man takes all the credit of his best as a rule.
Bad work does not matter, because other men do worse, and
incompetents hang on longer in India than anywhere else. Amusements
do not matter, because you must repeat them as soon as you have
accomplished them once, and most amusements only mean trying to
win another person's money. Sickness does not matter, because it's all
in the day's work, and if you die another man takes over your place and
your office in the eight hours between death and burial. Nothing
matters except Home furlough and acting allowances, and these only
because they are scarce. This is a slack, kutcha country where all men
work with imperfect instruments; and the wisest thing is to take no one
and nothing in earnest, but to escape as soon as ever you can to some
place where amusement is amusement and a reputation worth the

having.
But this Boy--the tale is as old as the Hills--came out, and took all
things seriously. He was pretty and was petted. He took the pettings
seriously, and fretted over women not worth saddling a pony to call
upon. He found his new free life in India very good. It DOES look
attractive in the beginning, from a Subaltern's point of view--all ponies,
partners, dancing, and so on. He tasted it as the puppy tastes the soap.
Only he came late to the eating, with a growing set of teeth. He had no
sense of balance--just like the puppy--and could not understand why he
was not treated with the consideration he received under his father's
roof. This hurt his feelings.
He quarrelled with other boys, and, being sensitive to the marrow,
remembered these quarrels, and they excited him. He found whist, and
gymkhanas, and things of that kind (meant to amuse one after office)
good; but he took them seriously too, just as he took the "head" that
followed after drink. He lost his money over whist and gymkhanas
because they were new to him.
He took his losses seriously, and wasted as much energy and interest
over a two-goldmohur race for maiden ekka-ponies with their manes
hogged, as if it had been the Derby. One-half of this came from
inexperience--much as the puppy squabbles with the corner of the
hearth-rug--and the other half from the dizziness bred by stumbling out
of his quiet life into the glare and excitement of a livelier one. No one
told him about the soap and the blacking because an average man takes
it for granted that an average man is ordinarily careful in regard to them.
It was pitiful to watch The Boy knocking himself to pieces, as an
over-handled colt falls down and cuts himself when he gets away from
the groom.
This unbridled license in amusements not worth the trouble of breaking
line for, much less rioting over, endured for six months-- all through
one cold weather--and then we thought that the heat and the knowledge
of having lost his money and health and lamed his horses would sober
The Boy down, and he would stand steady. In ninety-nine cases out of
a hundred this would have happened. You can see the principle
working in any Indian Station. But this particular case fell through
because The Boy was sensitive and took things seriously--as I may
have said some seven times before. Of course, we couldn't tell how his

excesses struck him personally. They were nothing very heart-breaking
or above the average. He might be crippled for life financially, and
want a little nursing. Still the memory of his performances would
wither away in one hot weather, and the shroff would help him to tide
over the money troubles. But he must have taken another view
altogether and have believed himself ruined