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EX-KING OF AFGHANISTAN

fear. The sombre ranks sat stolid behind the barbed
wire.

Amanullah and the principal delegates moved away.
Pierri and I followed. The delegates were left to them-
selves. We saw them later on in twos and threes, walk-
ing disconsolately about the gardens, the butt of every
Kabuli and hillman. Their clothes grew more untidy
as the day progressed. Many of them unlaced their
boots, and would have taken them off if it had not been
for the vigilance of the police. Their ties became more
string-like and confused. Their hats perched at every
strange angle on their shaved heads. There was to be
no more politics that day.

Lighter entertainment was next offered. It was
rumoured that there was to be a military display after
lunch, on the new parade ground. The cars were
drawing up already, and the delegates were hurrying
off to be there for the most favoured places. Pierri and
I made our way to the hotel and drank lemonade, trying
to assure ourselves that what we had seen had actually
happened.

Ram Prasad was no good to me to-day. Even he
could not find me a seat in the smallest of the Bang's
Rolls. Pierri and I hired a motor bus, and rattled down
the road toward the new parade ground for the after-
noon's entertainment.

Yes, this was a great day. The shopkeepers would
have voted for an Independence Day every week. The
stalls were besieged by the crowds, buying armfuls of
fruit. The dust rose high, and the beggars, all of them
come from Kabul City for the day* lined the road and
whined their supplications to the passers-by.

A grand chorus of motor horns added to the hubbub.
Every old lorry in Kabul had come to Paghman, brimg-
ing its packed loads of cheerful and excited citizens.

M 177