A HUNT FOR HOATZINS 105 



citing country, with hoatzins asleep within a 

 half-mile, I could not bring my mind to any of 

 these things, and wandered about, idly turning 

 the leaves of dull periodicals, looking at cases 

 of cues and the unfinished records of past bil- 

 liard tournaments, yellowed with age. The 

 steward approached timidly. 



"Would the sahib like to see the library?" 

 Yes, the sahib decidedly would. We climbed 

 the stairs, creaking as if they complained at 

 the unaccustomed weight of footsteps, to the 

 upper room of the club. It was large, barn- 

 like in its vacantness, with a few little tables, 

 each surrounded by a group of chairs, like 

 chickens crowded about a hen. The walls were 

 lined with books and there was an atmosphere 

 about the room which took hold of me at once. 

 I could not identify it with any previous experi- 

 ence, certainly not with the libraries of George- 

 town in which I had spent days. This was 

 something subtle, something which had to dis- 

 cover itself. The steward led me proudly about, 

 making it plain that his affection was here rather 

 than with the mixing of swizzles below. No, he 

 had never read any of them, but he would feel 

 honored if I found any pleasure in them and 



