326 A Sportswoman in India 



three-quarters of the day between. There is no 

 choice. What outrage to the digestion ! How the 

 twelfth repetition of curried chicken becomes like a 

 quail to an Israelite ! Such are the joys of travelling ! 



The days themselves passed more quickly than 

 might be expected ; it was intensely hot, and the best 

 thing to be done was nothing ; to lie on the dusty 

 seats with the sun-blinds down to keep out the glare, to 

 pretend to read and not to sleep, lulled by the jolting 

 of the train, to drink an occasional generous cup of 

 hot tea, " which saves the veins of the neck from 

 swelling inopportunely on a warm night." 



We stopped long enough at one junction to have a 

 hot bath a bright spot in those five days. The nights 

 were fairly cool and endurable, but for the mosquitos. 

 Who ever appreciated that exasperating sing-song in a 

 minor key ? The mosquito who comes to bite you, 

 and bites you without more ado, is not so execrable as 

 the mosquito who comes to bite you and keeps you 

 waiting while it sings its Nunc Dimittis. 



The country we passed was at first singularly un- 

 interesting ; then came the Deccan, and it grew, 

 especially in the evenings, almost beautiful. The 

 weird-shaped, volcanic-looking hills were flushed with 

 rose-colour, the wet rice fields steamed, the tall palms 

 nodded like funeral plumes against the sunset. 

 Farther south the train ran along through fields of rice, 

 high, waving crops of sugar-cane and castor-oil, thickets 

 of copper-coloured croton, clumps of large feathered 

 bamboos, groves of little feathered tamarinds, gold- 



