5^C^C^t^C-^l^fc^^«^C^

EX-KING OF AFGHANISTAN

in the country. The grease paint was coming to the
wilds.

Here was another of Amanullah's picturesque schemes.
Somewhere—it may have been at Drury Lane, or at
the Scala, Milan—the thought struck him that the drama
was the final revelation of modernisation and civilisa-
tion. Afghanistan must have the theatre! And with
characteristic directness, he had commanded the pres-
ence of a touring company then playing in Peshawar.

His officials had made all the arrangements. It is
true that the players had been promised transport in
private cars, and had made the uncomfortable journey
in a lorry. It is true that they eventually received only
half the salary promised. But that was not the fault
of Amanullah. On the Day of Independence, the per-
formance was gone through on the stage of the new
cinema, and Amanullah and the principal guests sat in
the front row and thrilled suitably.

The little company was pathetic and despondent. It
consisted of the owner, a German Jew, and his wife, a
South African Dutch. Their son and daughter, one
born in Paris and the other in South America, were in
the cast. There was a husband of the daughter, himself
a New Yorker, and an additional property man who
was distinctly Italian. A true Cockney girl, with the
cheekiness and adaptability of her kind, completed
the cast. Appropriately, it seemed, the international
atmosphere of the new Afghanistan was being main-
tained.

But the eyes of the Cockney girl were dimmed with
tears of self-pity when she arrived at the Paghman hoteL
Even the progressive friendliness of Pierri, and his humble
present of a bunch of grapes, did not brighten her woe-
begone features. She feared for her life; she feared for
her safety* The comedienne of the show was miserable,

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