EX-KING OF AFGHANISTAN

bartered what little the hordes had conquered for the
price of five hundred elephants.

We can picture the young Amanullah poring over
these records of his nation's history. He has perhaps
been out on a hunting trip, and has made his way back
to camp only when dusk has fallen and the majority
of his men have pleaded their physical exhaustion. He
has tired them out, racing over the plains on his horses,
and scrambling over the rocks after ibex. He is at the
camp-fire, reading in old Persian by the glimmering
light of the flames, while the chill mist comes down
on the hills with that suddenness which distinguishes
the hilly regions of the East.

His men lie unconscious in sleep. Still he goes on
reading. And after a time lifts his eyes from the page
and dreams of his future.

What did he aspire to ? There was an even chance
of his being Amir. He was not the eldest son, but the
rules of direct accession do not always apply in Eastern
countries. . . .

He had even chances with his brother, whom he
held in the contempt common in the soldier for the
diplomat. He had even chances with the next strong
man who might be convenient and able to jump into
the breach.

Did he wish to be Amir ? Probably not, if kingship
meant the age-long wrangling, the intrigue, and the
chicanery of present-day life. He could not, he felt,
maintain the pace at Court, He would hanker for
his parade grounds, for his personal touch with the
Army, and for the wild hills from which his men were
recruited.

In. many moments of reverie he thought of the back-
ward condition of his people. Even the tenets of the
religion which were taken for granted in his country,
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