must be the KAISER. Lend me a bottle of whisky and mount guard--must
impress the blighter."

I attached my last bottle of Scotch to the messenger and sallied
forth to mount a guard, none too easy a job, as the Army had gone to
celebrate somebody's birthday in the neighbouring village. However, I
discovered one remaining trooper lying in the shade of a loquat-tree.
He was sick--dying, he assured me; but I persuaded him to postpone
his demise for at least half-an-hour, requisitioned his physician (the
local witch doctor) and two camp followers, and, leaving my cook-boy
to valet them, dashed to my hut to make my own toilet. A glimpse
through the cane mats five minutes later showed me that our visitors
had arrived.

A fruity German officer in full gala rig (white gloves and all)
was cruising about on mule-back before our camp, trying to discover
whether it was inhabited or not. We let him cruise for a quarter of
an hour without taking any steps to enlighten him. Then, at a given
signal, Frobisher, caparisoned in every fal-lal he could collect,
issued from his hut, and I turned out the improvised guard. A stirring
spectacle; and it had the desired effect, for the German afterwards
admitted to being deeply impressed, especially by the local wizard,
who paraded in his professional regalia, and, coming to cross-purposes
with his rifle, bayoneted himself and wept bitterly. The ceremonies
over and the casualty removed we adjourned to Frobisher's _kya_,
broached the whisky and sat about in solemn state, stiff with
accoutrements, sodden with perspiration. Our visitor kept the Red,
White and Black flying on a tree over the border, he explained; this
was his annual ceremonial call. He sighed and brushed the sweat from
his nose with the tips of a white glove--"the weather was warm, _nicht