Some of them may not have seen
another white face since the last weekly gathering.
Each of them in turn acts as host. By lumbering bullock-cart or on the
heads of coolies he sends in charge of his servants to the club-house miles
away from his bungalow food and drink, crockery, cutlery, and glasses, for
the entertainment of all who will foregather there.
And for a few crowded hours this lonely spot in the jungle is filled with
the sound of human voices, with laughter, friendliness, and good
fellowship. Men who have been isolated for a week rub off the cobwebs,
lunch, play tennis, polo, and cards, and swap stories at the bar until the
declining sun warns them of the necessity for departing before night falls
on the forest. After hearty farewells they swing themselves up into the
saddle again and dash off at breakneck speed to escape being trapped by the
darkness.
Many and strange are the adventures that befall them on the rough roads or
in the trackless wilds. Sometimes an elephant, a bear, or a tiger confronts
them on their way. But the intrepid planter, and his not less courageous
women-folk, if he has any to accompany him, gallops fearlessly by it or,
perhaps, rides unarmed at the astonished beast and scares it by wild cries.
Then on again to another week of lonely labour.
This day it had fallen to the lot of the Dalehams to be the hosts of their
community.
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