“Yes, sugar,” I cried, sprinkling an imaginary handful over the rice.
The law-makers gazed at each other with wondering eyes, and the word passed from mouth to mouth: “Sugar!”
“Sure, sugar!” cried James, taking up the refrain.
A man rose slowly to his feet, marched across to us, and squatted before the dish.
“Sugar?” he inquired, peering into our faces. “No, no!”
He took a pinch of the food between his fingers, put it into his mouth, and munched it slowly as if he were trying to examine the taste. Then he shook his head forcefully and spat the mouthful out on the floor.
“No; no sugar, no!” he cried.
My companion, Gerald James of Perth, Australia, crossing the boundary line between Burma and Siam.
“Of course there’s no sugar!” shouted James. “That’s why we’re making a holler. Sugar, you thick-headed mummy.” James thought it was not necessary to be polite, since they couldn’t understand him.