AMANULLAH

As time went on, he came to believe that all the
season's pageantry had been arranged for his benefit,
though he had been at first incredulous when faced
with even such a minor honour as the illumination of
Selfridge's Stores in Oxford Street. He was being taken
for an evening drive, with Sir Francis Humphrys as his
guide. The open car passed along the busy streets, and
the huge frontage of the famous store suddenly blazed
with welcoming lights as they turned into the thorough-
fare.

" That is in your honour," said Sir Francis. " Those
words read : * Long live King Amanullah and Queen
Souriya ! ' "

" I do not believe it," replied Amanullah simply.

But secretly he rejoiced. No mere Amir of Afghanis-
tan had seen as much as a single electric bulb glow in
his honour.

Naturally, after the idea had been planted in his brain,
he saw every national sporting and social event as a
tribute to his visit. Everything was based on his pres-
ence. London revolved round him. The mistake was
very human and very understandable.

When he was taken to the Boat Race, he protested
long and vehemently at the beginning of the race. The
long slim boats were ready for the starting gun. The
crews were taut and anxious. Amanullah prepared to
get out of the launch.

" I think," he said, " that I shall choose the pale blue
steersman."

He honestly believed that he was to be shown the
sights of London from the frail shell of a racing eight,
and credited the waiting thousands of Londoners merely
with the desire to see him pass up the river in peculiar,
but no doubt customary, state. Having been into the
interior of submarines, can it be wondered at that he