342 
IN AFRICA 
two weeks was springing culinary coups that ex¬ 
cited intense interest on our part. He had a way 
of assembling a few odds and ends together that 
finally merged into a rice pudding par excellence, 
while his hot cakes were so good that we spoke of 
them in rapt, reverential whispers. There wasn’t 
a twinge of indigestion in a “three by six” stack of 
them, and when flooded with a crown of liquid 
honey they made one think of paradise and angels’ 
choruses. 
Quite naturally, in my wanderings of nine 
months there were moments when my thoughts 
dwelt upon such material things as “vittles,” and 
it was instructive to compare the various kinds of 
food served on a dozen ships, a score of hotels, and 
a hundred camps. Some were good and some were 
bad, but as viewed in calm retrospect I think that 
Abdullah excelled all other chefs, taking him day in 
and day out. 
Upon only three occasions was he vanquished, 
but these were memorable ones. As food is a pleas¬ 
ant topic, perhaps I may be pardoned if I dwell 
fondly upon these three red-letter days in my mem¬ 
ory. 
One was in Paris. The night that we started for 
Africa a merry little company dined at Henry’s. 
That distinguished master was given carte blanche 
to get up the best dinner known to culinary science, 
and he had a day’s start. Everything was delicious. 
The dinner was a symphony, starting in a low key 
and gradually working up in a stirring crescendo 
