were adorned with the heads of wild beasts and their great furry hides
shared honors with the Persian rugs on the floor. Hare was a man who
would pack up at a moment's notice and go to the far ends of the world
to find a perfect black panther, a cheetah with a litter, or a great
horned rhinoceros. He was tall and broad, and amazingly active, for
all that his hair and mustache were almost white. For thirty years or
more he had gone about the hazardous enterprise of supplying zoological
gardens and circuses with wild beasts. He was known from Hamburg to
Singapore, from Mombassa to Rio Janeiro. The Numidian lion, the Rajput
tiger, and the Malayan panther had cause to fear Hare Sahib. He was
even now preparing to return to Ceylon for an elephant hunt.

The two daughters went over to the tea tabouret, where a matronly maid
was busying with the service. The fragrant odor of tea permeated the
room. Hare paused at his desk. Lines suddenly appeared on his bronzed
face. He gazed for a space at the calendar. The day was the fifteenth
of July. Should he go back there, or should he give up the expedition?
He might never return. India and the border countries! What a land,
full of beauty and romance and terror and squalor, at once barbaric and
civilized! He loved it and hated it, and sometimes feared it, he who
had faced on foot many a wounded tiger.

He shrugged, reached into the desk for a box of Jaipur brass enamel and
took from it a medal attached to a ribbon. The golden disk was
encrusted with uncut rubies and emeralds.

"Girls," he called. "Come here a moment. Martha, that will be all,"
with a nod toward the door. "I never showed you this before."

"Goodness gracious!" cried Winnie, reaching out her hand.