men to coughing. Here
and there on the ground were long mounds, covered completely with rough
hand-woven rugs. These were the invalids, who moaned as the rugs were
pulled off their faces. A great many had malaria; others had, as far as
we could see, very bad pleurisy; and one old Albanian with rattling
breath was huddled up in a far corner, too miserable to speak.

Whatmough sent for a dribble of camphorated oil he had stored in his
knapsack, "to cheer them up," said he, and rubbed everybody who had pain
and a cough.

"Give them hot drinks," said Jo, in a large way. "Milk or--"

"Milk! There is no milk in Medua," said the sergeant.

"No tinned milk--eggs to be bought?"

"Nothing, no meat; we have not even enough bread, and that is all we
get."

Very depressed, we sent them the remains of our Bovril and some tins of
milk from the tiny hotel store, and bought the last three eggs in the
place.

"Can't you send for more?" we asked.

"The hens are five hours away," said the proprietor, and didn't see why
he should send for eggs even if we paid heavily for them. He had
malaria--and nothing mattered.

We saw our patients daily, and the ones who weren't going to die got a
little better, so this made our reputation. People poured in from the
hills around, and we were much embarrassed. Our white-lipped waiter
confided to each member of the party that he had a lump on his knee.

Every one became very busy and put off looking at it. We discussed it.

What could a lump on the knee be which did not make a busy waiter limp?
And what on earth could we do for him when he wouldn't rest, and we were
reduced to boracic powder and bismuth capsules? We gave him a tube of
quinine, though, for his next attack of malaria.

The longer we rested in San Giovanni the more hopeless seemed the chance
of getting away from it. The Serbian Government was close on our heels,
and once they caught us up, there would be little left for us. That
evening we were sitting with the Frenchmen, it was Monday. They, too,
were depressed, and at last Tweedledum said--

"We shall never reach Paris, we shall be here for ever and ever."

"Oh," said Jan, rashly, "I think we ought to be home in a week."

Dum put on the superior French air, which is aggravating even in a nice
man.

"Vous croyez?" he said.

"I'll bet on it," said Jan.

"A dinner," answered Dum.

"Good," said Jan.

This lent a new interest to life.

The very next day the Frenchmen