There was nobody else to do it if I except the dog.
I walked into the veranda and shouted.

Then I saw that one end of it was partly glazed off, and inside sat a young man in his shirt-sleeves with his back to the door.
In reply he called out, 'That you, Rosario ?' and I stood silent, taken somewhat aback.
There was only one Rosario in Simla, and he was a subordinate in my own office.

Again the hateful need to explain.

Between subordinate clerks and officials in Simla there is a greater gulf fixed than was ever imagined in parable.

Besides, Rosario had a plain strain of what we call 'the country' in him, a plain strain, that is, of the colour of the country.