No servants, no food, no----" "Wait a minute, please," interrupted Browne.

"I say, Britt, come here a moment, will you?
Lord Deppingham says the servants have struck." The American lawyer, a chubby, red-faced man of forty, with clear grey eyes and a stubby mustache, whistled soulfully.
"What's the trouble?
Cut their wages ?" he asked.
"Wages?
My good man, we've never laid eyes on 'em," said Deppingham, drawing himself up.
"I'll see what I can do, Mr.Browne.Got to have cooks, eh, Lord Deppingham ?" Without waiting for an answer he dashed off.

His lordship observing that his wife had disappeared, followed Browne to the balustrade, overlooking the upper terrace.

The native carriers were leaving the grounds, when Britt's shrill whistle brought them to a standstill.

No word of the ensuing conversation reached the ears of the two white men on the balcony, but the pantomime was most entertaining.
Britt's stocky figure advanced to the very heart of the group.