174 JUNGLE PEACE 



the rest, worthy perhaps of a place in my 

 memory roll of supercoolies, who worked at 

 weeding day after day, like the rest of the men, 

 but who thought other thoughts than those of 

 Mahabol and Guiadeen. I wished I had known 

 of him sooner. 



So Gokool sang to us two, the coolie boy and 

 me, a song of ancient India, and danced it by 

 moonlight here in this American jungle, and I 

 dotted his dancing circle with pence, and a few 

 bits, and even a shilling or two. And Gokool 

 thanked me with dignity. And his face will 

 long remain vivid, tense with feeling, forgetful 

 of all but the loud-cadenced phrases, the quaver- 

 ing chant which broke in and out of falsetto 

 so subtlely that no Western voice may imitate 

 it. And I like to think that he enjoyed dancing 

 for a sahib who loved Lucknow and the old bal- 

 lads. And so we parted. 



After I cached the vampire lantern behind 

 its intrenched bulwark of books and magazines, 

 I leaned far out of a window and thought over 

 the night's happenings. It was long after mid- 

 night, and the steady throb of the tom-tom still 

 kept rhythm with the beat of my temples, and 



