found them shut. Why was this?"

"Sahib, at eight o'clock I found them open."

"It was at eight o'clock," said the colonel sternly, "that I found them
shut."

The Bengali spread out his hands in deprecation. "If the sahib says so
it must be so," he pleaded, adding with truly Oriental irrelevancy, "I
am a poor man and have many children." It is as useless to argue with
an Indian orderly as it is to try conclusions with a woman.

"Let it not occur again," said the colonel shortly, and with an apology
to his guest they passed on.

They paused in front of a cabin. Over the door was the legend "Pathans,
No. 1." The door was shut fast. The colonel was annoyed. He opened the
door, and four tall figures, with strongly Semitic features and bearded
like the pard, stood up and saluted. The colonel made a mental note of
the closed door; he looked at the porthole--it was also closed. The
Pathan loves a good "fug," especially in a European winter, and the
colonel had had trouble with his patients about ventilation. A kind of
guerilla warfare, conducted with much plausibility and perfect
politeness, had been going on for some days between him and the Pathans.
The Pathans complained of the cold, the colonel of the atmosphere. At
last he had met them halfway, or, to be precise, he had met them with a
concession of three inches. He had ordered the ship's carpenter to fix a
three-inch hook to the jamb and a staple to the door, the terms of the
truce being that the door should be kept three inches ajar. And now it
was shut. "Why is this?" he expostulated. For answer they pointed to the