Explore "The New Dispensation -- I" by Rudyard Kipling on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
LONDON IN A FOG -- NOVEMBER
Things have happened -- but that is neither here nor there. What I urgently require is a servant -- a nice, fat Mussulman _khitmatgar_, who is not above doing bearer's work on occasion. Such a man I would go down to Southampton or Tilbury to meet, would usher tenderly into a first-class carriage (I always go third myself), and wrap in the warmest of flannel. He should be "_Jenab_" and I would be "_O Tum_. " When he died, as he assuredly would in this weather, I would bury him in my best back garden and write mortuary verses for publication in the _Koh-i-Nur_, or whatever vernacular paper he might read. I want, in short, a servant; and this is why I am writing to you.[29]