cigarette, and handed the matches. I distinctly remember the first half-
dozen puffs of that cigarette, the first taste of kava it had the flavour
of soft soap and Dover's powder. I have smoked French-Canadian tobacco,
I have puffed Mexican hair-lifters, but Heaven had preserved me till that
hour from the cigarettes of a Crown Prince of Tonga. As I said, the
pillars multiplied; the mats seemed rising from the floor; the maidens
grew into a leering army of Amazons; but through it all the face of the
Crown Prince never ceased to smile upon me gently.

There were some incidents of that festival which I may have forgotten,
for the consul said afterwards that I was with his Royal Highness about
an hour and a half. The last thing I remember about the visit was the
voice of the successor to the throne of Holy Tonga asking me blandly in
perfect English: "Will you permit me to show you the way to the consul's
house?"

To my own credit I respectfully declined.






THE BLIND BEGGAR AND THE LITTLE RED PEG

As Sherry and I left the theatre in Mexico City one night, we met a blind
beggar tapping his way home. Sherry stopped him. "Good evening," he
said over the blind man's shoulder.

"Good evening, senor," was the reply. "You are late."