Come, let us sit in the window and observe; it is but forty puffs of
a No. 3 cheroot, in a lazy palanquin, from one end of Cossitollah to
the other; and from our window, though not exactly midway, but
nearer the Bazaar, we can see from Flag Street wellnigh to the Midaun.
What is this? A close _palkee_, with a passenger; the bearers, with
elbows sharply crooked, and calves all varicose, trotting to a
monotonous, jerking ditty, which the _sirdar_, or leader, is
impudently improvising, to the refrain of _Putterum_, ("Easy now!")
at the expense of their fare's _amour-propre_.
"Out of the way there!
_Putterum_.
This is a Rajah!
_Putterum_.
Very small Rajah!
_Putterum_.
Sixpenny Rajah!
_Putterum_.
Holes in his elbows!
_Putterum_.
Capitan Slipshod!
_Putterum_.
Son of a sea-cook!
_Putterum_.
Hush! he will beat us!
_Putterum_.
Hush! he will kick us!
_Putterum_.
Kick us and curse us!
_Putterum_.
Not he, the greenhorn!
_Putterum_.
Don't understand us!
_Putterum_.
Don't know the lingo!
_Putterum_.
Let's shake the palkee!
_Putterum_.
Rattle the pig's bones!
_Putterum_.
Set down the palkee!
_Putterum_.
Call him a great lord!
_Putterum_.
Ask him for buksheesh!
_Putterum_.
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