Presently little Karlee reappeared, bringing a great
round hand-punka, formed of a single huge palm-leaf, and, standing
behind my shoulder, began to fan me solemnly. Immediately there was a
subdued and mysterious clapping of hands, and the old man, going to the
door, received, from behind the red curtain which hung across it, a bowl
of coarse unglazed earthenware, but smoking and savory, which he set
before me, together with a smaller bowl of the same material, empty; and
to my lively surprise these were followed by English bunns and pickles,
a jar of chutney, a bottle of Allsop's ale, my own silver beer-mug,
knives and forks, table and dessert spoons, fruit-knife, and
napkin,--all from our quarters in Cossitollah, two miles away. By what
conjuration and mighty magic Karlee had procured these from my kitmudgar
without a _chittee_, or order, I have not yet discovered.
The tureen contained delicious Mulligatawney soup, of which, as Karlee
well knew, I was inordinately fond; and as he opened the ale he modestly
congratulated himself on my vigorous enjoyment of it.
After the soup came curried prawns, a very piquant dish, in eminent
repute among the Sahibs, and a famous appetizer. Tonic, hot, and pungent
as it is, with spices, betel, and chillies, it is hard to imagine what
the torpid livers of the Civil Service would do without their rousing
curry.
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