After changing at two junctions, and a tedious but eventless journey, Kipper and I arrived in Bangalore, and drove off in a dusty, shuttered gharry to 202 Infantry Lines, the abode of Mrs. de Castro.
Bangalore itself lies chiefly around a maidan or parade ground about a mile long, bordered with a ride and trees, and encircled and traversed by the principal roads in the station. Parallel to the maidan are the infantry lines; they lie behind what once were infantry barracks, and are now commissariat stores. Formerly the bungalows were occupied by officers, but these quarters--like the barracks--have passed into a different use, and are rented by clerks, shopkeepers and railway subordinates. Number 202 was large and old and gloomy, situated in a small compound with two entrances, flanked by imposing gate piers, but there were no gates. The front of the bungalow was completely veiled by an enormous lattice-work porch, covered with flowering creepers--wine-coloured bougainvillea and blue masses of "morning glory." The little drive was full of ruts, the steps up to the veranda were lined with many pots of caladiums and maidenhair; evidently these had been recently watered, for the first sensation I received, with respect to my new residence, was an all-pervading smell of wet earth.
As we rumbled up and came to a noisy halt a little old woman shuffled out of the doorway directly facing the steps; and as I descended from the gharry she exclaimed in a shrill, querulous voice:
I hastened to assure her that I could vouch for Kip's good conduct, and that he would be no trouble whatever to her.
"But what about my cats?" she snapped. "By the look of him I should say he would trouble _them_."
Again I declared that I would be guarantee for his behaviour.
"And you're a lady!" she continued in the same complaining key. "Miss Lucy never told me that."
"Well, it is in a way," was her unexpected reply. "I'm not a lady myself. I was a lady's maid, and I've been looking for a nice homely girl who would read to me, and run to the bazaar, and be a sort of companion."
"I think I can manage all that," I replied, and turned to pay off the _gharriwan_.
The small amount of my luggage undoubtedly mollified my landlady, and having assured me that I had given the _gharriwan_ double his fare, with considerable pomp and circumstance she preceded me into the drawing-room, which, as in most old bungalows, opened directly upon the veranda. Her air implied that she was now about to exhibit something superior and out of the common. What a room! The middle of it was occupied by a vast round ottoman, hard--I subsequently learned--as stone, covered with the most hideous black and green cretonne I had ever beheld. The floor had recently been matted with cheap and odoriferous matting. The walls were coloured a blinding blue and hung with fearful chromos. Between the walls, the matting, and the new cretonne, I gathered that this terrible apartment had been recently, as it is called, "done up." There were a few cane chairs, a blackwood table, and an old cottage piano with a faded red silk front.