turn it over to me. He had a hunting lodge not far from my quarters.
One day Ahmed came to me with a message saying that the king commanded
my presence at the lodge, where his slaves had trapped a fine leopard.
Yes, my dears, slaves. There is even a slave mart at the capital this
day. A barbaric fairy-land, with its good genii and its bad djinns."

"_The Arabian Nights_," murmured Winnie, snuggling close to Kathlyn.

"The Oriental loves pomp," went on the colonel. "He can't give you a
chupatty----"

"What's that?" asked Winnie.

"Something like hardtack. Well, he can't give you that without
ceremonial. When I arrived at the lodge with Ahmed the old boy--he had
the complexion of a prima donna--the old boy sat on his portable
throne, glittering with orders. Standing beside him was a chap we
called Umballa. He had been a street rat. A bit of impudence had
caught the king's fancy, and he brought up the boy, clothed, fed him,
and sent him away down to Umballa to school. When the boy returned he
talked Umballa morning, noon and night, till the soldiers began to call
him that, and from them it passed on to the natives, all of whom
disliked the upstart. Hanged if I can recall his real name. He was
ugly and handsome at the same time; suave, patient, courteous; yet
somehow or other I sensed the real man below--the Tartar blood. I took
a dislike to him, first off. It's the animal sense. You've got it,
Kit. Behind the king sat the Council of Three--three wise old ducks I
wouldn't trust with an old umbrella."

Winnie laughed.