AN ELEPHANT 211 



royal betel-nut box, spittoon, cigarettes, tumbuk 

 lada,* kris and spear. The Sultan was a rotund, 

 pop-eyed little man of about thirty-five, with a 

 mania for bestowing royal favors or orders and 

 a penchant for hanging brass chains upon his 

 waistcoat, and binding diamond-studded decora- 

 tions about his instep. At his feet, on the floor, 

 sat two coffee-colored sons of eight and ten years 

 —one of whom must have been by a favorite wife, 

 for he was dazzling in purple velvet trimmed with 

 gold braid ; and each lad wore bracelets and anklets 

 and was loaded with brass chains and covered by 

 shining medals, which, for the most part suggested 

 dismembered tin cups, teapots, and soda-water 

 bottle stoppers. The photographs I made of the 

 Sultan in all his glory, together with other expo- 

 sure and hunting trophies, were subsequently lost 

 on one of the several occasions my skilled water- 

 men upset our canoes in descending the up-country 

 rivers. 



I was detained in an antechamber while this im- 

 posing spectacle arranged itself in the audience 

 hall for my particular amazement; and if I was 

 not amazed— at least I was amused. His August 

 Majesty received me most graciously, as befitted a 

 potentate of his quality; and after offering me a 

 very bad cigarette, generously granted permission 



* Small kris, corresponding to dagger. 



