P------st, owed his life on one occasion. W. sat by the sick-bed
of his friend with unwearied attention, for some days and nights,
after the doctors had declared his case entirely hopeless. He
proposed at last to try change of air, and take him on the river
Ganges. The doctors, thinking that he might as well die in his boat
on the river as in his house at Calcutta, consented to his taking him
on board. They got up as far as Hooghly, when P. said that he felt
better and thought he could eat something. What should it be? A
little roasted kid perhaps. The very thing that he was longing for!
W. went out upon the deck to give orders for the kid, that his friend
might not be disturbed by the gruff voice of the old 'khansama'
(butler). P. heard the conversation, however.
'Khansama', said the Beau W., 'you know that my friend Mr. P. is very
ill?'
'Yes, sir.'
'And that he has not eaten anything for a month?'
'A long time for a man to fast, sir.'
'Yes, Khansama, and his stomach is now become very delicate, and
could not stand anything strong.'
'Certainly not, sir.'
'Well, Khansama, then he has taken a fancy to a roasted _mare_'
('madiyan'), meaning a 'halwan', or kid.
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