Under the Deodars | Page 3

a fog.
'How do you propose to fix that river? Look! There's The Mussuck
head of goodness knows what. He is a power in the land, though he
does eat like a costermonger. There's Colonel Blone, and General
Grucher, and Sir Dugald Delane, and Sir Henry Haughton, and Mr.
Jellalatty. All Heads of Departments, and all powerful.'
'And all my fervent admirers,' said Mrs. Hauksbee piously. 'Sir Henry
Haughton raves about me. But go on.'
'One by one, these men are worth something. Collectively, they're just a
mob of Anglo-Indians. Who cares for what Anglo-Indians say? Your
salon won't weld the Departments together and make you mistress of
India, dear. And these creatures won't talk administrative ''shop" in a
crowd your salon because they are so afraid of the men in the lower
ranks overhearing it. They have forgotten what of Literature and Art
they ever knew, and the women '
'Can't talk about anything except the last Gymkhana, or the sins of their
last nurse. I was calling on Mrs. Derwills this morning.'
'You admit that? They can talk to the subalterns though, and the
subalterns can talk to them. Your salon would suit their views
admirably, if you respected the religious prejudices of the country and
provided plenty of kala juggahs.'
'Plenty of kala juggahs. Oh my poor little idea! Kala juggahs in a salon!
But who made you so awfully clever?'
'Perhaps I've tried myself; or perhaps I know a woman who has. I have
preached and expounded the whole matter and the conclusion thereof '

'You needn't go on. ''Is Vanity." Polly, I thank you. These vermin' Mrs.
Hauksbee waved her hand from the verandah to two men in the crowd
below who had raised their hats to her 'these vermin shall not rejoice in
a new Scandal Point or an extra Peliti's. I will abandon the notion of a
salon. It did seem so tempting, though. But what shall I do? I must do
something.'
'Why? Are not Abana and Pharpar '
'Jack has made you nearly as bad as himself! I want to, of course. I'm
tired of everything and everybody, from a moonlight picnic at Seepee
to the blandishments of The Mussuck.'
'Yes that comes, too, sooner or later. Have you nerve enough to make
your bow yet?'
Mrs. Hauksbee's mouth shut grimly. Then she laughed. 'I think I see
myself doing it. Big pink placards on the Mall: ''Mrs. Hauksbee!
Positively her last appearance on any stage! This is to give notice!" No
more dances; no more rides; no more luncheons; no more theatricals
with supper to follow; no more sparring with one's dearest, dearest
friend; no more fencing with an inconvenient man who hasn't wit
enough to clothe what he's pleased to call his sentiments in passable
speech; no more parading of The Mussuck while Mrs. Tarkass calls all
round Simla, spreading horrible stories about me! No more of anything
that is thoroughly wearying, abominable, and detestable, but, all the
same, makes life worth the having. Yes! I see it all! Don't interrupt,
Polly, I'm inspired. A mauve and white striped ''cloud" round my
excellent shoulders, a seat in the fifth row of the Gaiety, and both
horses sold. Delightful vision! A comfortable arm-chair, situated in
three different draughts, at every ball-room; and nice, large, sensible
shoes for all the couples to stumble over as they go into the verandah!
Then at supper. Can't you imagine the scene? The greedy mob gone
away. Reluctant subaltern, pink all over like a newly-powdered baby,
they really ought to tan subalterns before they are exported, Polly, sent
back by the hostess to do his duty. Slouches up to me across the room,
tugging at a glove two sizes too large for him I hate a man who wears
gloves like overcoats and trying to look as if he'd thought of it from the

first. ''May I ah-have the pleasure 'f takin' you 'nt' supper?" Then I get
up with a hungry smile. Just like this.'
'Lucy, how can you be so absurd?'
'And sweep out on his arm. So! After supper I shall go away early, you
know, because I shall be afraid of catching cold. No one will look for
my 'rickshaw. Mine, so please you! I shall stand, always with that
mauve and white ''cloud" over my head, while the wet soaks into my
dear, old, venerable feet, and Tom swears and shouts for the
mem-sahib's gharri. Then home to bed at half-past eleven! Truly
excellent life helped out by the visits of the Padri, just fresh from
burying somebody down below there.' She pointed through the pines
toward the Cemetery, and continued with vigorous dramatic gesture
'Listen! I see it all down, down even to the stays! Such stays! Six-eight
a pair, Polly,