neck in ten minutes. You sit next him and give him your motor car
patter."

Therefore I took the middle seat and played chorus. The road was not a
bad one, as natural mountain roads go; I have myself driven worse in
California. Our man, however, liked to exaggerate all the difficulties,
and while doing it to point to himself with pride as a perfect wonder.
Between times he talked elementary mechanics.

"The inflammation of the sparkling plugs?" was one of his expressions
that did much to compensate.

The country mounted steadily through the densest thorn scrub I have ever
seen. It was about fifteen feet high, and so thick that its penetration,
save by made tracks, would have been an absolute impossibility. Our road
ran like a lane between two spiky jungles. Bold bright mountains cropped
up, singly and in short ranges, as far as the eye could see them.

This sort of thing for twenty miles--more than a hard day's journey on
safari. We made it in a little less than two hours; and the breeze of
our going kept us reasonably cool under our awning. We began to
appreciate the real value of our diplomacy.

At noon we came upon a series of unexpectedly green and clear small
hills just under the frown of a sheer rock cliff. This oasis in the
thorn was occupied by a few scattered native huts and the usual squalid
Indian dukka, or trading store. At this last our German friend stopped.
From under the seat he drew out a collapsible table and a basket of
provisions. These we were invited to share. Diplomacy's highest triumph!