merged in the real issue, there is, nevertheless, a decided disposition
all around to make it an entirely one-sided affair."

"I don't believe I grasp--" muttered Deppingham blankly.

"I see perfectly," exclaimed his wife. "The natives are allied against
us, just as we are, in a way, against them and Mr. Browne. Really, it
seems quite natural, doesn't it, dear?" turning to her husband.

"Very likely, but very unfortunate. It leaves us to broil our brains out
down here on this pier. I say, Mr.--er--old chap, can't you possibly
engage some sort of transportation for us? Really, you know, we can't
stand here all day."

"I've no doubt I can arrange it, my lord. If you will just wait here
until I run back to the bank, I daresay I'll find a way. Perhaps you'd
prefer standing under the awning until I return."

The new arrivals glowered after him as he started off toward the bank.
Then they moved over to the shelter of the awning.

"Did he say he was going to run?" groaned his lordship. The progress of
Bowles rivalled that of the historic tortoise.

It was fully half an hour before he was seen coming down the street,
followed by a score or more of natives, their dirty white robes flapping
about their brown legs. At first they could not believe it was Bowles.
Lord Deppingham had a sharp thrill of joy, but it was shortlived. Bowles
had changed at least a portion of his garb; he now wore the tight red
jacket of the British trooper, while an ancient army cap was strapped