ARRIVAL AT THE HUNTING GROUNDS 125 



you cannot make even the one primitive apartment 

 of a wild hostelry your ver}^ own. Other chance 

 wayfarers may be precipitated into it at any minute. 



We manoeuvred a very excellent supper from some 

 of the gift mutton, and the proprietor of the auberge — 

 a most attentive individual, who never left us or for- 

 sook us — had somehow or other hooked a large trout 

 at a remote stage of its career, which he had kippered 

 after the fashion of smoked salmon. This petrified 

 treasure he bestowed on us, and we cooked it in sections 

 in the frying-pan portion of our en route lunch basket. 

 The blowing out of the flaming wick gave our host 

 untold joy. Over and over again he lighted it for the 

 sheer delight of extinguishing the thing. 



After the meal he produced some stuff he called — 

 at least so Ali translated the word — " brandy," fire- 

 water of the fiercest description, masquerading in 

 an attractive bottle, labelled " Finest French Cognac." 



The voice was the voice of Jacob, but the hand was 

 the hand of Esau ! 



Kenneth was most frightfully ill all night, and made 

 his will on the back of an envelope, which I promptly 

 lost in the rubbish of the room, or else the local vermin 

 ate it. I could not find any more paper, so Kenneth 

 decided on trying to live until he got into a will-making 

 radius again, and presently he fell asleep. 



Early in the morning I descended the ladder and 

 found our henchman reposing on some straw in the 

 filthy subterranean stable where the ponies stood 

 fetlock-deep in slush, chumping the " oats " of the 

 country happily. 



