16 EDGE OF THE JUNGLE 
and in the morning we would remember and won- 
der who our fellow tenants could be. Some 
nights the bungalow seemed as full of life as 
the tiny French homes labeled, “Hommes 40: 
Chevaux 8,” when the hastily estimated billeting 
possibilities were actually achieved, and one won- 
dered whether it were not better to be the cheval 
premier, than the homme quarantiéme. 
For years the bungalow had stood in sun and 
rain unoccupied, with a watchman and his wife, 
named Hope, who lived close by. ‘The aptness 
of his name was that of the little Barbadian mule- 
tram which creeps through the coral-white streets, 
striving forever to divorce motion from progress 
and bearing the name Alert. Hope had done 
his duty and watched the bungalow. It was un- 
doubtedly still there and nothing had been taken 
from it; but he had received no orders as to accre- 
tions, and so, to our infinite joy and entertain- 
ment, we found that in many ways it was not 
only near jungle, it was jungle. I have com- 
pared it with a natural cave. It was also like a 
fallen jungle-log, and we some of the small folk 
who shared its dark recesses with hosts of others. 
_ Through the air, on wings of skin or feathers 
