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Occasionally Europeans appeared with requests for assistance. For these people one felt much pity. They could not accommodate themselves to the conditions of life in the bazaars like the Eurasians, who were born in the country; nor did the curry and rice and fruits suit them as they suited the man of mixed blood. There was also more danger from exposure to the sun with the European than with the country-born. One April, the hottest month of the year with the exception of May, three Italian musicians paid us a visit and asked for money to pay their rail-fare on towards one of the large seaports. We invited them to come that evening and give us some music in the garden. There was a bright moon, and their music was charming; but their pleasure was even greater than ours in our appreciation of their performance. They left the station the next day, and we heard no more about them. English, Germans, and Americans down on their luck passed through Trichinopoly and were helped as far as the funds would allow. They were usually of the mechanic class. Once or twice we had men of good education whose pockets were temporarily empty and whose credit had come to an end. One of these, formerly a planter and afterwards an engineer in a manufacturing company, was making his way home as best he could. The company had gone bankrupt and was unable to pay him his salary. His planting venture had been equally unlucky. He was glad of dinner in the verandah and a shakedown on one of the verandah couches until the small hours of the morning when the mail train left. The Europeans passed completely out of our lives, and never returned like the Eurasians. Did they rejoin their relations in temperate climes, or did they lay down their lives in some Indian hospital friendless and forgotten?