"Ah; very like."

These were all typical Hawkish expressions.

His yarns of India out-Rudyard Kipling. They were superb, full of
barrack-room touches, and the smells and sounds of the jungle. He told
of the time when a soldier could get "jungling leave"; when he could
go off with a Winchester and a pal and a native guide for two or three
months; when the Government paid so many rupees for a tiger skin, so
many for a cobra--a scale of rewards for bringing back the trophies of
the jungle wilds.

He pictured the Himalayas and the Hindu Kush, describing the
everlasting snows where you look up and up at the sheer rocks and
glaciers; "you feel like a baby tortoise away down there, so small, as
like as not you get giddy and drunk-like."

One night Hawk told me of a Hindu fakir who sat by the roadside
performing the mango-trick for one anna. I illustrated it in the sand
as he told it.

*caption: Dug-out, September 9, 1915.*

1. The fakir puts a pinch of dust from the ground in a little pile on
a glass plate on a tripod.

2. He covers it up with a handkerchief or a cloth.

3. He plays the bagpipes, or a wooden flute, while you can see the
heap of dust under the cloth a-growing and a-growing up and up, bigger