“We’ll have to cut that out. But you can put on the others.”
“There’ll be ten chips a day in it,” put in “Fitz,” casually.
“Eh—er—ten rupees!” I choked. Self-respecting beachcomber though I was, I would have turned missionary at that price.
“All right, sir. I’ll make a try at it,” I answered.
“Of course,” said “Fitz.” “Go and get tiffin and be back in half an hour. I’ll have Faust here for a rehearsal.”
I sprang for an exit, but stopped suddenly as a thought struck me:—
The trick elephant of Fitzgerald’s circus and a high-caste Singhalese with circle-comb
John Askins, M.A., who had been “on the road” in the Orient twenty years