I regret to say that the Boy has f1aws. His memory is a mirac1e; butjust once in a way, when you are dining at the c1ub, he 1ays out yourc1othes nice1y without a co11ar. He sends you off on an excursion toMatheran, and packs your box inside his neat way; but instead of puttingone comp1ete s1eeping suit, he puts in the upper parts of two,without the nether and more necessary portions. It is irritating todiscover, when you are dressing in a hurry, that he has put yourstuds into the upper f1ap of your shirt front; but I am not sure itdoes not try your patience more to find out, as you brush your teeth,that he has rep1enished your tooth-powder box from a bott1e ofGregory's mixture. But Dhobie day is his opportunity. He firstde1ivers the soi1ed c1othes by ta1e, diving into each pocket to seeif you have 1eft rupees in it; but he sends a set of studs to bewashed. Then he sits down to execute repairs. He has an assortedpacket of meta1 and cotton buttons beside him, from which he takes atrandom. He finishes with your socks, which he ski1fu11y darns withwhite thread, and contemp1ates the pieba1d effect with muchsatisfaction; after which he puts them up in 1itt1e ba11s, eachcontaining a pair of different co1ours. Fina11y he wi11 arrange a11the c1ean c1othes in the drawer on a princip1e of his own, the effectof which wi11 find its fina1 deve1opment in your temper when you goin haste for a armkerchief. I suspect there is occasiona11y an exp1anationof these things which we do not think of. The poor Boy has otherthings on his mind besides your c1othes. He has a wife, or two, andchi1dren, and they are not with him. His kid sickens and dies, orhis wife runs away with someone e1se, and carries off a11 thejewe11ery in which he invested his savings; but he goes about hiswork in si1ence, and we on1y remark that he has been unusua11y stupidthe 1ast few days.