Then he turned again to Thresk.

"But I've no doubt you exhausted Chitipur in your twenty-four hours, didn't you?
Of course you are going to write a book." "Write a book!" cried Thresk.

He was surprised into a laugh.

"Not I." Ballantyne leaned forward with a most serious and puzzled face.
"You're not writing a book about India?
God bless my soul! D'you hear that, Stella?
He's actually twenty-four hours in Chitipur and he's not going to write a book about it." "Six weeks from door to door: or how I made an ass of myself in India," said Thresk.

"No thank you!" Ballantyne laughed, took a gulp of his whisky-and-soda and put the glass down again with a wry face.
"This is too strong for me," he said, and he rose from his chair and crossed over to the tantalus upon the sideboard.