So little cold weather comes to Ajaibgaum that the residents make the most of it; and sitting on the windward side of a campfire mulling claret and brewing grog furnished a pleasing and Christmas-like after-dinner diversion. We were thus occupied when Mr. Bubbleby interrupted the little flirtation that Clara and I had set up, by deferentially claiming a few minutes conversation. He had to accompany His Honour to Brinjalpur; and wished to know if I could spare him half an hour in the early morning to look over his inventions. I thought of my proud position as a priest of the Temple of Fame and Special Correspondent of the Oracle; and gladly promised to do all in my power to make the fruits of his genius known. But remembering my chief's instructions I added:—"As a man of the world, Mr. Bubbleby, you will understand that I should like to look at these things with you as a private individual, absolutely unprejudiced, and without any reference to the use to be made of the information. In short, my dear Sir, we will talk them over and 'sink the shop.'"
I flattered myself that I had thus secured the impersonality which, as all right-thinking journalists allow, ought to shroud the newspaper writer.
The Engineer seized my hand impressively, and with an air of great mystery assured me that he understood me perfectly; and that he and his family would religiously abstain from any reference to what he was pleased to call my "position as a professional man." He then left, and the band of a neighbouring mess-tent striking up dance music, Mr. Twitchley Crowdie proposed a valse. The cheery Commissioner was plump but nimble. He quickly tired out the Judge's wife and took Miss Clara for a turn. The gaily dressed couples revolving round the fire, now in gloom and now in the glare of the blazing wood, made a pretty picture; and the girlish grace of Miss Clara was in charming contrast to the rotundity of her partner, whose bald head shone in the firelight like a spinning billiard ball. Suddenly I saw him trip on the edge of a durree. He tried to recover himself and seemed to do so for a yard or two, but stumbled again. Desperately trying not to fall, and tightly clutching Miss Clara, he bore down on the fire; falling into it on his back and raising a fountain of sparks. The ladies screamed, but Mr. Twitchley Crowdie was active and had great presence of mind. He rolled, out of the
