And observe this carnation in my button-hole
— the gift of Mrs. Apsley— she gave it to me
on the mall. The glare of the lights, and the
atmosphere of smoke in which I have been
sitting part of the night, have robbed it of its
freshness, its bloom, and perfume. I am
sorry to say it is an emblem of most of us.

Go home, Apsley! Go home, reeking of
tobacco smoke and brandy-and-water— with
your eyes like boiled gooseberries, your hair
in frightful disorder— go home! You will
probably meet upon the mall your three
beautiful children, with their rosy faces all
bloom, and their breath, when they press
their glowing lips to those feverish cheeks of
yours, will smell as incense and make you
ashamed of yourself. Go home, Jack!
I will tiff with you to-day at half-past two.

Two young gentlemen were victimised last
night at the Brag party. The one, a lieutenant
of the N. I. Buffs, lost six thousand rupees;
the other, a lieutenant of the Foot Artillery,
four thousand. The day after to-morrow,
the first of the month, will be settling day.
How are they to meet these debts of honour?
They have nothing but their pay, and must
borrow from the banks. That is easily
managed. The money will be advanced to
them on their own personal security, and
that of two other officers in the service. They
must also insure their lives. The premium
and the interest, together, will make them
forfeit fourteen per cent, per annum on the
sum advanced. The loan will be paid off in
three years, by monthly instalments. The
paymaster will receive an order from the
bank secretary to deduct for the bank so
much per mensem from their pay. For the
next three years they will have to live very
mildly indeed.

There were also two victims (both youngsters)
to billiards. One lost three thousand
rupees in bets, another two thousand five
hundred, by bad play. They, too, will have
to fly for assistance to the banks. Captains
Locke and Bunyan won, between them, last
night, one thousand four hundred pounds.
There was but little execution done at whist.
Not more than one hundred and fifty pounds
changed hands. Those four men who play
regularly together, and who never exceed
their usual bets, have very little difference
between them at the end of each month— not
thirty pounds, either way. This will not hurt
them; for they have all good appointments,
and have private property besides.

I find, on going to tiffin at Jack Apsley's, that
Mrs. Jack has heard all about the winnings
and losings at the club. Some man went
home and told his wife, and she has told
everybody whom she has seen. In a short
time the news will travel to head-quarters at
Simlah, and out will come a general order on
gambling, which general order will be read
aloud at the Himalaya Club, with comments
by the whole company— comments which
will be received with shouts of laughter.
Some youngster will put the general order
into verse, and send it to a newspaper. This
done, the general order will be converted
into pipe-lights. This is no doubt very sad;
but I have no time to moralise. My duty is
simply to paint the picture.

Mrs. Apsley is not angry with her husband
for staying up till daylight. She thinks a
little dissipation does him good; and it is but
a very little that Jack indulges in, for he is a
good husband and a good father. Jack has
a severe headache, but he won't confess it. He
says he never touched the champagne, and only
drank two glasses of brandy and water. But
who ever did touch the champagne, and who
ever did drink any more than two glasses of
brandy and water? Jack came home with
his pockets filled with almonds, raisins, prunes,
nut-crackers, and two liqueur glasses; but
how they got there he has not the slightest
idea— but I have. Wywell, from a sideboard,
was filling his pockets all the while he was
singing Rule Britannia.

"Mrs. Apsley, I have some news for you."

"What is it, Captain Wall?"

"The club gives a ball on the seventh of
June."

"You don't say so."

"And what is more, a fancy ball."

The tiffin is brought in. Mulligatawny
soup and rice, cold lamb and mint sauce,
sherry and beer. The Apsleys are very
hospitable people; but Mary, who rules the
household, never exceeds her means for the
sake of making a display.

The soup and a glass of wine set Jack up;
and he becomes quite chirpy. He proposes
that he and I and Wywell shall go to the
fancy ball as middies, and that Mary shall
appear as Black-eyed Susan. Then, darting
off at a tangent, he asks me if I
remember when we were lying off Mount
Edgecombe, just before sailing for South
America? But he requires a little more
stimulant, for the tears are glistening in his
soft blue eyes when he alludes to the death
of poor Noel, a middy whom we buried in
the ocean a few days before we got to Rio.
In a very maudlin way he narrates to his
wife the many excellent qualities of poor
Noel. She listens with great attention; but,
observing that his spontaneous emotion is the
result of the two over-night glasses of brandy
— plus what he cannot remember drinking
over-night— she suggests that Jack shall make
some sherry cobbler. What a jewel of a
woman art thou, Mrs. Apsley! Several of
the men who returned home, as Jack did,
none the better for their potations, have
been driven by their wives' reproaches to the
club, where they are now drinking brandy
and soda-water to excess; while here is your
spouse as comfortable as a cricket on a
hearth; and now that he confesses he was
slightly screwed, you, with quiet tact,
contradict his assertion.