Eliza Ruhamah Scidmore,
Winter India
(1903)
“ When I demurred at myself dismounting to walk up the next trifling hill, the gentle sais whined: "Gentlemen go Khyber Pass always walk up hills." The sowar lounged in splendid ease on the back seat of his tum-tum, dawdling his Enfield on his knee, and watching us from on high as we toiled up each gentle gradient after him. "How about that sowar? If gentlemen always walk up hills in Khyber Pass, why does n't he get down and walk?" ”
