Tjilatjap was reached at midday. The town had an imposing appearance, all the streets being planted with avenues of large trees. X. drove at once to the hotel, where he was given a room like a horse-box with the sun streaming into it. As mentioned above, he subsequently ascertained that his travelling companion had managed to secure the only decent room in the hotel, and X. did not feel any love for the stranger, who had taken what he felt to be an unfair advantage of his local innocence. He only wished he could hand him over to the tender mercies of the most muscular and irritable member of the civil service, after relating how he had libelled it. There was lunch lying ready spread on the table and its appearance was satisfactory. Next day he noticed that this meal was laid hot at 9.30 daily, and left cooling until far on in the afternoon. Being hungry, the distant view of the table looked inviting, and X. prepared for a hearty meal. But his joyful expectation gave way to something like disgust on discovering, what a nearer approach revealed, that each article of food was firmly congealed in its own gravy. But no one else seemed to mind, and a party opposite—father, mother and daughter—ate of these provisions as though they were delicacies hot from the kitchen of the Savoy or Bignon's. Strolling out a little later to smoke a cigarette and try to persuade himself he had lunched, the visitor spied the proprietor of the hotel, his family and some favoured guests, enjoying cakes, and what appeared to be Madeira, and fruit in the verandah. As sleep in that sunbaked oven of a room was impossible, the traveller sent for a carriage and went for a drive. The appearance of all the houses that he passed gave the idea that every one inside them was asleep, but their stillness was counterbalanced by the busy crowds of natives going to and fro along those avenues of wonderful trees.

Later in the day X. sallied forth to call on the Assistant Resident. He had been informed at the hotel that this official was not visible between the hours of 11 a.m. and 7 p.m.—rather a long period of retirement.

As it was growing dark X. walked up to the house, a far superior residence to the one at Garvet. The lady of the house and her family were starting for the evening drive, not daring to venture out before this late hour. The Assistant Resident, apparently a very young man, received his visitor with great cordiality and gave him all the information in his power, promising his assistance if he wished to go further up country. It should be stated that, arrived at Tjilatjap, Usoof's memory received a filip, and he recollected that the town of Jombong, not far off, had been the chief place near his "kampong." On hearing this, the Assistant Resident promised to send a letter to the Wodena or native magistrate of the village, who lived at Soempioet and could let him stay in his house. This exactly met the wishes of X., who had been only wanting an opportunity to see more of the native life in Java, away from the track of hotels and tame curio sellers, who differed but little in one town from another. While the traveller was paying this call, another visitor arrived. This was no less a personage than the President of the Landraad. After they had left, he hospitably invited the Englishman into the club, where they played billiards. The great man made himself most agreeable and was quite ready to impart to his companion all he might wish to hear about the duties of the local government officers. He learnt that the Assistant Resident exercised a very limited jurisdiction as magistrate, and all cases, excepting the most trivial, are brought before the Landraad. The post held by this cheery official was evidently most congenial, and he explained with much satisfaction how he had to be frequently travelling, and what a liberal allowance he could draw while doing so. It need be liberal, thought his hearer, to compensate for a course of feeding in Java hotels. But sympathy on this point was wasted, as the President of the Landraad alluded to the one, at which it appeared they were both staying, and spoke of it as comfortable. Billiards over, it was time to return to the hotel for dinner. This meal, probably more owing to the lamp-light than to any inherent superiority, seemed an improvement on the last one, had not the diners made it unnecessarily uncomfortable by treating it as though it were a hurried snack at the counter of a railway refreshment room. For instance, three or four times during the progress of the meal callers came to see the courteous President, who cheerfully left the table to interview them, returning with equanimity to the discussion of the chilled dishes at whatever stage of the feast he chanced on when he returned. The table was not cleared away after the sorry farce of dinner was over, and X. noticed, as late as ten and even half-past ten o'clock, late diners strolling in to feed on the ever less appetising remains. X. recalled the words of his companion in the train, and thought he at least had some justification for his remarks on the digestions, or the want of them, of his fellow-countrymen in Java.

The chief thing for intending travellers in Java to recollect is the difficulty of obtaining money, since no one will look at a cheque, as people in that country do not use them. It is necessary, therefore, to take ready money and rely upon periodical remittances sent by registered letter from the bank. At Garvet X. had his first experience of pecuniary trouble through having placed confidence in his cheque book, backed by the special permit signed by the Governor General of the Netherlands India. He had invested in some Java ponies and thus outrun all calculations as to expenditure. The hotel people would not look at his cheque, though they certainly looked at the owner of it with the careful scrutiny born of suspicion. Very troubled, he had called at all the chief shops and places of business in the town asking assistance, and assuring merchants of his bona fides, as they scanned his cheque and passed it from one to another as a curiosity such as none of them had ever seen before. At length good fortune appeared in the shape of a Mr. Schmidt. One of those who had endeavoured to grasp some meaning from the cheque, explained that he believed this kind of thing was seen in Europe, and they had better call Mr. Schmidt, who not only had been there within the last two years, but also spoke a little English. X. eagerly seconded the suggestion, and Mr. Schmidt appeared. His verdict was anxiously awaited, but especially by the owner of the cheque, whose future movements must depend on the decision, and his relief was great when the good, the discerning, the up-to-date Mr. Schmidt pronounced in his favour. He declared that, certainly he had seen such cheques before, and generously offered to cash it himself. Thus the situation was saved, and the stranger was able to carry out his arrangements and pay his debts. Good Mr. Schmidt! that stranger remembers you with gratitude. Here, in Tjilatjap, X. was again threatened with penury, for, though he had telegraphed for money, the little registered packet had so far not appeared. Perhaps his bankers could not really credit that he had gone to a place with such a reputation as Tjilatjap. But it was because of this reputation that X. was unwilling to prolong his stay there beyond what was actually necessary, and, therefore, sending off the Malays with the luggage, remained behind, relying upon the arrival of the money by the morning post. He utilised the opportunity of this enforced stay to visit the hospital. The hospitals in the Native States of the Peninsula are perhaps the chief signs of the civilization, of which their Government may be proud, seeing that in them natives of all nationalities are splendidly housed and have the best of medical attendance free. It was, therefore, interesting for the Englishman who hailed from that Peninsula to see how, in a large town like Tjilatjap in Java, these things were done.

He had the good fortune to be most courteously shown over the building by the doctor in charge. It was somewhat of a surprise to find that there were few patients in the hospital, notwithstanding the reputation of the place for fever, and to learn that the average number of sick amongst the natives was not noticeably in excess of other towns.

The whole building was a picture of neatness and cleanliness. The walls were made of bertam (a kind of plaited reed) so as to be easily destroyed and replaced in case of infection. The floors were of cement and raised off the ground. This hospital has only been started two years, and, at the present time, possesses fifty beds. The bathing places in particular merited attention, the floors being tiled, while large tanks of brick and cement contained the water supply—baths are provided for feeble patients. The most elaborate building was the dead-house, where all the latest improvements were to be seen. There was, and is, a European ward where patients can be treated for three guilders a day. Another building, standing a little apart, was for Europeans of a better class who could afford to pay six guilders a-day, "but," the doctor added, "they never come." The hospital is free for all natives, and, contrary to what is frequently the case elsewhere, the authorities seem to experience no difficulty in inducing them to go there. The doctor has one assistant to help him in managing the hospital. He spoke very highly of the native dressers, and said that they frequently turn out well. To X., accustomed to see similar hospitals crowded with Chinese, it was curious only to find one in the whole hospital, and he was the cook.

After his visit to the hospital the traveller went to the post office to ask if his registered letter had come, and was considerably depressed to find that, though the post had arrived, there was no letter by it for him. There was nothing to be done but to accept the information and return to the hotel and think it out. He was alone—servants and luggage had gone, and some ten guilders of money only remained. Where could he find a local Schmidt. The landlord suggested that perhaps the people at the Factory might change his cheque. X. was not certain, but believed the Factory to be the name for the offices of the chief trading firm in Java. Acting on this advice, he took a carriage and drove there. The haughty young gentleman who presided behind the counter received him suspiciously, and at once disdainfully and very firmly refused to have anything to do with the cheque, which he turned over and over in his fingers as though it might bite him, and then returned to its owner.

Bowed out and baffled, the traveller returned to his hotel. The situation was now growing serious, for the train to Soempioeh went in half-an-hour, and, after paying his bill, there would be no money for the fare, even could he start penniless. As a forlorn hope X. sallied forth in the sun to pay one more visit to the post-office. This building was closed, and the hard-worked officials had retired to their private apartments in the back premises. Bold to desperation, the visitor skirted round the post-office and peered into the privacies beyond. Seeing an open door he walked in, and found the chief official in his shirt sleeves partaking of his midday meal. With profuse apologies for his intrusion, X. stated his anxiety about his remittance, and rather feebly asked the officer if he were "quite sure" the letter had not come. "Quite sure," grumbled the official in excellent English, "but to satisfy you I'll let you come and look yourself." X. almost begged him not to take what surely must be superfluous trouble, but, luckily, refrained, and accompanying the officer into the post-office, walked towards a pile of papers stacked in pigeon-holes. "There," exclaimed his guide, "see—see for yourself"; and he did, for on the top lay a blue envelope duly registered and addressed to himself.

Thus the hotel bill was paid, and he caught the train to Soempioeh. There he was met by Abu and messengers from the Wodena, who accompanied him to that officer's house.