THE LAND OF FOOTPRINTS 



the native quarters and "barracks" were well ar- 

 ranged and in perfect order. The place looked ten 

 years old instead of only two. 



We followed Home to an enclosure, outside the gate 

 of which were stacked a great number of spears. 

 Inside we found the owners of those spears squatted 

 before the open side of a small, three-walled build- 

 ing containing a table and a chair. Home placed 

 himself in the chair, lounged back, and hit the table 

 smartly with his rawhide whip. From the centre 

 of the throng an old man got up and made quite a 

 long speech. When he had finished another did 

 likewise. All was carried out with the greatest de- 

 corum. After four or five had thus spoken, Home, 

 without altering his lounging attitude,, spoke twenty 

 or thirty words, rapped again on the table with his 

 rawhide whip, and immediately came over to us. 



"Now," said he cheerfully, "we'll have a game of 

 golf." 



That was amusing, but not astonishing. Most 

 of us have at one time or another laid out a scratch 

 hole or so somewhere In the vacant lot. We re- 

 turned to the house. Home produced a sufficiency of 

 clubs, and we sallied forth. Then came the sur- 

 prise of our life! We played eighteen holes — eigh- 

 teen, mind you — over an excellently laid-out and 

 kept-up course! The fair greens were cropped short 



236 



