THE OPEN DOOR 



wrinkles and camphor aroma of a long packing 

 away are yet discernible. Often they are still 

 wearing sun helmets or double terai hats pending a 

 descent on a Piccadilly hatter two days hence. 

 They move slowly and languidly; the ordinary 

 piercing and dominant English enunciation has 

 fallen to modulation; their eyes, while observant and 

 alert, look tired. It is as though the far countries 

 have sucked something from the pith of them in 

 exchange for great experiences that nevertheless 

 seem of little value; as though these men, having met 

 at last face to face the ultimate of what the earth has 

 to offer in the way of danger, hardship, difficulty and 

 the things that try men's souls, having unexpectedly 

 found them all to fall short of both the importance 

 and the final significance with which human-kind 

 has always invested them, were now just a little 

 at a loss. Therefore they stretch their long, lean 

 frames in the wicker chairs, they sip the long 

 drinks at their elbows, puff slowly at their long, lean 

 cheroots, and talk spasmodically in short sentences. 



Of quite a different type are those going out — 

 young fellows full of northern health and energy, 

 full of the eagerness of anticipation, full of romance 

 skilfully concealed, self-certain, authoritative, clear 

 voiced. Their exit from the 'bus is followed by a 

 rain of hold-alls, bags, new tin boxes, new gun cases, 



7 



