THE CUP OF COLD WATER.

Pukekohe & Waiuku Times, Volume 4, Issue 107, 12 November 1915, Page 3 (Supplement)

THE CUP OF COLD WATER.

It was a blazing day. The padre Sahib was standing at Kalyan Junction, an hour's run trom Bombay, debating with himself the important question whether on the long railway journey to Cobrapur he would treat himselt to the luxury of dinner in the dining-car (three rupees for the dinner, tour annas for a drink, and two annas to tip the waiter), or whethei he would content h'mseit with "one meat dish" handed in his own carnage. Alter all, the dignity of the cloth must be respected, and he voted unanimous ly for the dining-car. Presently a troop train drew up full of wounded sepoys for the Persian Gulf, en route tor an up-country hospital. As ho looked at their pale faces, pale even through their dusKiness, he Had some twinges of conscience wtuc.i he tried to allay by handing in to one of the carnages some anna packets oi bidis (native cigarettes) hastily purchased front the station bookstall.

Another train drew up with somo Nepalese recruits going north for training. The padre could not speak their language and ttiey could not speak his, but lie salaamed and smiled, and they salaamed without smiling, and both parties felt the better tor it. Yet another tram putted and thundered into the busy junction; anJ c-ic padre's heart warmed as some knak. clad figures leapt on to the platfcv.u. The blod of a long line ot tigiitmg clansmen flowed in his veins, and :n spite of his more than 40 years lie Had orten chafed at the fate which chaineda him to an Indian mofussil station when all the world was at the " big war beyond the black water." For .. moment he had ;..i absurd idea to hug the Territorials. But being a shy Scot, he feigned an indifference he was far from teeing, and ascertained that they were Borderers on their way from l'oona to Bombay, to form a guard for some Turkish prisoners. The group was standing in front of the station refreshment-room. Through the open door came the words in a tone of vexed indignation—"'Three annas for a bottle of lemonade!" Looking round the padre saw a thirsty Terrier, the perspiration streaming down his face, reluctantly replacing a bottle oil the counter. Threepence for a single drink makes a big hole in the daily allowance of a soldier. Suddenly the padre's face lit up with the illumination of an Idea.

"Would any of you fellows like a drink ?" Without waiting for an answer, he rushed into the refreshment-room, followed by a stream of khaki that grew moment by moment as the good new.* spread. Two minutes had gone of the precious five during which the train waits at Kalyan. A few seconds mors were wasted in getting the Goanese attendant to realise that the matter was serious. But once he had taken in the situation he worked has he had never worked in his life. For three strenuous minutes not a sound was heard but the popping of corks, the tinkle of the ice, and the gurgle of parched men drinking against time.

As the whistle blew the la6t man dashed across the platform, drinking as he ran, hotly pursued by the attendant, intent on the recovery of the glass. As the train steamed out of the station the soldiers crowded to the win. dows and cheered the padre, who, forgetting his shyness, cheered the soldiers as long as there was a helmet in sight; and as he proudly turned to survey the rows of empty bottles he almost felt as if he wasn't a "non-com-batant" any more That night the padre, forgetting all about the dignity of the cloth, contentedly munched in his carriage what the attendant called a "si-dish," and it tasted very good. J. F. M'F.