miserable abode is yours. He bows to you. He wishes you joy and long life."
"That's kind of him," murmured Alan.
There was no clue to whether or not this gentleman had the faintest notion of the transaction between his grandfather and Captain Ingram. He was admirably self-contained, and his guests strove to model their own behavior on his Oriental dignity and calm.
The humble meal came somewhat later, after a walk through the hushed reaches of the musk-scented garden, and was such as to leave the boys tranfixed with astonishment. They had never imagined it was possible, in times less remote than those of Babylonian feasts, to eat—or try to eat—so many kinds of things at once.
There was sliced chicken and duck, tiny meat-pies in molds, rolled-up slices of ham, whole roast pigeons crouched on their own cooked eggs, persimmon tarts, shark-fin soup, small saucers of fish, and strange unknown vegetables; and then there was veal, and cucumbers, and duck-skin, browned, and some more rather queer soup—quite out of place after all the other things—and unappetizing looking pickled eggs, very delicious when courageously eaten,
