h George, who had the idler's knack in such matters, won
with ease. Gribton played so well that he became excessively
good-humoured.

"I almost wish I was going out again if I had you two as company. We
don't get the right sort out there. Our globe-trotters all want to show
their cleverness, or else they are merely fools. You will find it
miserably dull. Nothing but bad claret and cheap champagne at the
clubs, a cliquey set of English residents, and the sort of stock sport
of which you tire in a month. That's what you may expect our frontier
towns to be like."

"And the neighbourhood?" said Lewis, with lifted eyebrows.

"Oh, the neighbourhood is wonderful enough; but our people there are too
slack and stale to take advantage of it. It is a peaceful frontier, you
know, and men get into a rut as easily there as elsewhere. The
country's too fat and wealthy, and people begin to forget the skeleton
up among the rocks in the north."

"What are the garrisons like?"

"Good people, but far too few for a serious row, and just sufficiently
large to have time hang on their hands. Our friends the Bada-Mawidi now
and then wake them up. I see from the _Temps_ that a great stirring of
the tribes in the Southern Pamirs is reported. I expect that news came
overland through Russia. It's the sort of canard these gentry are
always getting up to justify a massing of troops on the Amu Daria in
order that some new governor may show his strategic skill. I daresay
you may find things a little livelier than I found them."

As they went towards the Faubourg St. Honore a bitter Paris
north-easter had begun to drift a fine powdered snow in their eyes.
Gribton shivered and turned up the collar of his fur coat. "Ugh, I
can't stand this. It makes me sick to be back. Thank your stars that
you are going to the sun and heat, and out of this hideous grey
weather."

They left him at the Embassy, and turned back to their hotel.

"He's a useful man," said Lewis, "he has given us a cue; life will be
pretty well varied out there for you and me, I fancy."

Then, as they entered a boulevard, and the real sweep of the wind met
their faces, both men fell strangely silent. To George it was the last
word of the north which they were leaving, and his recent home-sickness
came back and silenced him. But to Lewis, his mind already busy with
his errand, this sting of wind was the harsh disturber which carried him
back to a lonely home in a cold, upland valley.