"Welcome to the Appleton mine," said Mr. Appleton. "And now for supper. Our menu isn't elaborate, but if you're as sharp set as I am you won't be dainty. Come along!"
CHAPTER THE THIRD
MR. APPLETON'S MINE
Mr. Appleton led the way across a sort of yard, littered with mining debris, towards a building in the upper part of which lights were burning. To the left sheds and a chimney stack loomed up in the darkness, scarcely distinguishable against the background of rock. They passed through a gate, and found themselves in a less cumbered enclosure, at the farther corner of which stood the illuminated building. This proved to be a compact square edifice, the lower storey of stone, the upper of wood. The door stood open, and in the entrance appeared a grave turbaned servant, who salaamed as the boys went in.
"Chunda Beg, my khansaman," said Mr. Appleton. "Come upstairs and see your room. We haven't over much space, but we've done our best to make you comfortable."
The boys followed their uncle to the upper floor, which was one large apartment divided into three by matchboard partitions carried up to within a foot or two of the ceiling. In the first room, the dining-room, they saw a table laid for supper. Passing through this they entered Mr. Appleton's bedroom, a small chamber furnished only with a narrow camp bed, a chair, a towel-horse, a tin basin on a stand, a chest of drawers, and a zinc bath; a Persian rug lay on the floor at one side of the bed. Beyond the further partition, which had evidently been newly erected, was the boys' bedroom, about the same size as their uncle's, similarly furnished, but with two camp beds separated by the width of a Persian rug.
"No luxuries, you see," said Mr. Appleton, "but I think you'll find it cosy. I believe there's a looking-glass somewhere on the premises if you want to shave. That's a thing I haven't done for many years; Chunda Beg gives me a trimming every now and then when I'm getting too shaggy. As a follower of the Prophet, he wouldn't cut his own beard for a pension. He'll send you up some hot water and soap, and when you've had a wash, come in to supper."
The menu was not so scanty as Mr. Appleton had led the boys to believe. There was a roast joint that tasted three parts mutton and one part venison--the flesh of an ibex shot by Mr. Appleton himself. The vegetables were mushrooms, onions and lotus beans; the sweets a rice pudding and stewed peaches; and the beverage a kind of elderberry wine diluted with hot water.
"You've got a good cook, Uncle," said Lawrence, when the khansaman had brought coffee. "We haven't had so good a meal since we left Rawal Pindi."
"Well, Shan Tai does his best. He's a Chinaman, of course. We grow our own vegetables in a patch of ground down the valley. In fact, we do most things ourselves. The gas is acetylene, made on the spot. Most of the furniture in your room is home-made, as I dare say you noticed. We're what you may call self-contained."