better have four."

We went back joyfully to the hotel. Cutting or one of the others had
been exploring and had gotten twenty eggs. The hotel people consented to
cook them. While we were outside looking at the mosques and wondering
when the horses were coming, the professor walked into the bar-room.

"Ah," said he, "eggs."

"They belong to the English," said the hostess.

"Good," said the professor, and swallowed four.

Just then we returned.

"But there are only sixteen eggs," said we.

"The professor has eaten the others," said the woman, pointing.

In a minute the professor wished that he had not. Jan took the
opportunity of saying a few things which had been boiling within him. He
accused the wretched man of interference in assuming control of the
expedition; he said that he was a mere hanger-on, and a useless and
selfish one at that.

The professor wilted. He made a thousand apologies, and finally ran off
wringing his fat hands, found with great difficulty four more eggs and
cast them into the boiling water.

"There," he said, "you can have your four eggs."

"It's not the eggs," answered Jan, "it's you."

Jo was roaring with laughter. Some of the morning she had been in a
woman's house listening to one of the policeman's tales of the
professor, and soon the whole village was rocking with amusement at
"Teshko."

At last the horses arrived--six miserable-looking beasts, but this time
all had shoes. One was commandeered by the professor.

"He is the greatest philosopher in all Serbia," whispered an official to
Jan.

"Ah, I guessed there must be some reason," said Jan.

We had a send-off, all the village came to see us go away. The day was
a repetition of our previous experiences. A long tramp in the mud. At
the top of the highest pass we had yet reached was an old wooden
blockhouse.

We came upon it unexpectedly, rounding a corner. Montenegrin soldiers
were cooking at a wood fire; but we were surprised to find all round the
square log cabin deep rifle pits, the best we had yet seen in Serbia.

"Good Lord, what are those for?" said Jan.

"This is an old Turkish post," said the sergeant. "It has been kept up.
We don't know why."

We walked off meditating. Montenegrins do not squander soldiers without
reason; and then one's mind went back to the four armed guards who were
accompanying us.

We discovered the truth later, let us tell the story here.

Berane, to which we were descending, was onc