“HE WAS LAZILY
SUNNING HIMSELF.”
Philip wanted a picture of her, and, after a talk with the man of the house, at last gained his consent. Philip had a little trouble in making the man comprehend that the girl must come out into the sunshine; but by pointing to the sun and to a side of the hut that was in its full glare, he finally had the little model, blushing prettily, posed in a good situation. The man stood up beside her, and they were photographed together.
No sooner had Philip raised his camera than the sight-seers gathered eagerly about him, until he could hardly find space to reach the button. He pushed it in a hurry, and made his way out. Just a moment after, he secured an even better subject, entirely by accident. Upon another veranda sat a mature Javanese gentleman crouched down upon his heels. He was lazily sunning himself, and Philip leveled the camera and took him before he could say the Javanese for “Jack Robinson.” The man opened his blinking eyes at the click of the shutter, but only smiled indulgently, and resumed his basking, like a frog on a log.
A YOUNG LADY FROM JAVA.
Leaving the Javanese village, and ignoring upon their way the appeals of a vender of Java cigarettes—“Ver’ sheap! two for five!”—they settled back in their chairs and plunged again into the outside thoroughfare.
Mr. Douglass, looking up a little absent-mindedly, saw a sign which he read thus, “Dancing-girl of Damascus now dancing—600 years old.” Startled by this marvel, even in that land of enchantment, he turned his head and found that the 600 years referred to the city rather than to the dancer.
“Where would you like to stop now, sir?” asked the guide.