y their diet had consisted
principally of biscuits and sand. With this they had drunk as much dry
sherry as happened to be left in the millionaire's gold flask with the
diamond monogram on it. Therefore at first sight they were glad when
they saw the pool, and dismounted hurriedly from their camels. But
self-respect, which is a splendid quality, came to their rescue. It was
the millionaire who spoke first.

"I don't call that a pool at all. I have a lake in the park at my
country-place at least four times the size of that. It is a wretched
skimpy little business not worth our attention. Now if we had come to
the cataract of Niagara, that really would have been of some interest."

Even as he spoke, the analyst had produced from his saddle-bags test
tubes, and litmus paper, and a spirit-lamp, and all manner of mixed
chemicals, and was busily engaged on a sample of the water which he had
taken.

It was the artist who spoke next.

"Water demands green surroundings. To put a pool in a desert is to put
it in a wrong setting altogether. Here we have one stunted and miserable
palm tree, and no other vegetation. There is really nothing at all here
that I should care to paint."

The analyst was now ready with his results.

"This is precisely what I feared. There can be no doubt whatever that
this pool suffers from organic pollution. I do not say that it exists to
such an extent as to be dangerous to life, but there is a very distinct
trace. I will show you the figures in my analysis."

He did so. I have forgotten the figures. But that does not matter,
because if I told you them, you also would forget them.

And then for a while these three good men sat and looked at one another.

"I believe I am dying of thirst," said the millionaire.

"So am I," said the artist.

"There is no known form of liquid that I would not at this moment gladly
drink," said the analyst.

So after all they turned their attention to the pool.

But in the meantime the three camels--poor dumb beasts who knew no
better--had drunk up the whole of that pool, and had gone on their way
rejoicing.

CHAPTER II

OMISSIONS: AND THE STORY OF "THE GIRL WHO WENT BACK"

There are smuts in London.

There is also a tradition about the smuts in London, and it may be as
well to differentiate the facts and the tradition. According to
tradition, everywhere within a six-mile radius from Charing Cross smuts
fall heavily and continuously. Nothing will