Isaacs, who to every one's astonishment, seemed not to
feel any inconvenience from his accident, clung to his seat in Miss
Westonhaugh's tonga, sitting in front with the driver, while she and her
uncle or brother occupied the seat behind, which is far more
comfortable. At last, however, he was obliged to give his place to
Kildare, who had been very patient, but at last said it "really wasn't
fair, you know," and so Isaacs courteously yielded. At last we reached
Kalka, where the tongas are exchanged for _dak gharry_ or mail carriage,
a thing in which you can sit up in the daytime and lie down at night,
there being an extension under the driver's box calculated for the
accommodation of the longest legs. When lying down in one of these
vehicles the sensation is that of being in a hearse and playing a game
of funeral. On this occasion, however, it was still early when we made
the change, and we paired off, two and two, for the last part of the
drive. By the well planned arrangements of Isaacs and Kildare, two
carriages were in readiness for us on the express train, and though the
difference in temperature was enormous between Simla and the plains,
still steaming from the late rainy season, the travelling was made easy
for us, and we settled ourselves for the journey, after dining at the
little hotel; Miss Westonhaugh bidding us all a cheery "good-night" as
she retired with her _ayah_ into the carriage prepared for her.
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