Those woolly-headed porters are going to save up his commission and hand it to him when he brings the down-train in! The game's good: he whistles--passenger runs--can't make change--pays two, three, four, ten times what the job's worth--and the porters divvy up with the engineer.

But good lord, the porters must be honest!" Presently a pale white man in khaki with a red beard entered our compartment, and Courtney had to make room for him on the seat.

He apologized with less conviction of real regret than I ever remember noticing, although the pouches under his eyes gave him a rather world-weary look.
"Not another first-class berth on the train--every last one engaged.
Might be worse.

Might have had to ride with Indians.

Curse of this country, Indians are.