Doones would be little Debra Doones, with a fine Mussoorie
chi-chi anent to bring home for the holidays.

CURTISS. And a pair of be-ewtiful sambhur-horns for Done to
wear, free of expense, presented by-DONE. Yes, it's an enchanting
prospect. By the way, the rupee hasn't done falling yet. The time
will come when we shall think ourselves lucky if we only lose half
our pay.

CURTISS. Surely a third's loss enough. Who gains by the
arrangement? That's what I want to know.

BLAYNE. The Silver Question! I'm going to bed if you begin
squabbling Thank Goodness, here's Anthony-looking like a
ghost.

Enter ANTHONY, Indian Medical Staff, very white and tired.

ANTHONY. 'Evening, Blayne. It's raining in sheets. Whiskey
peg lao, khitmatgar. The roads are something ghastly.

CURTISS. How's Mingle?

ANTHONY. Very bad, and more frightened. I handed him over to
Few-ton. Mingle might just as well have called him in the first
place, instead of bothering me.

BLAYNE. He's a nervous little chap. What has he got, this time?

ANTHONY. 'Can't quite say. A very bad tummy and a blue funk so