To-night however we were talking about England—and also about things to eat. We had got a little tired of Indian food. You see, none of the natives knew how to cook; and we had the most discouraging time training a chef for the Royal Kitchen. Most of them were champions at spoiling good food. Often we got so hungry that the Doctor would sneak downstairs with us into the palace basement, after all the cooks were safe in bed, and fry pancakes secretly over the dying embers of the fire. The Doctor himself was the finest cook that ever lived. But he used to make a terrible mess of the kitchen; and of course we had to be awfully careful that we didn’t get caught.
Well, as I was saying, to-night food was the subject of discussion at the Cabinet Meeting; and I had just been reminding Bumpo of the nice dishes we had had at the bed-maker’s house in Monteverde.
“I tell you what I would like now,” said Bumpo: “a large cup of cocoa with whipped cream on the top of it. In Oxford we used to be able to get the most wonderful cocoa. It is really too bad they haven’t any cocoa-trees in this island, or cows to give cream.”
“When do you suppose,” asked Jip, “the Doctor intends to move on from here?”
“I was talking to him about that only yesterday,” said Polynesia. “But I couldn’t get any satisfactory answer out of him. He didn’t seem to want to speak about it.”
There was a pause in the conversation.
“Do you know what I believe?” she added presently. “I believe the Doctor has given up even thinking of going home.”
“Good Lord!” cried Bumpo. “You don’t say!”
“Sh!” said Polynesia. “What’s that noise?”
We listened; and away off in the distant corridors of the palace we heard the sentries crying,