More bows and smiles, and we left wondering. Montenegrins always promise
even when they have no intention of performance--something like the
stage Irishman,--and we were surprised when Dr. Ob met us in the evening
and said that the motor was arranged for next morning at eight.
We tea'd with the count once more. In the next house lived a gorgeous
old gentleman, and we heard that he had been War Minister for forty odd
years. After thirty years or so of office it was considered that he
could better uphold the dignity of his position were he able to sign his
name. So he had to learn.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII
THE LAKE OF SCUTARI
Dr. Ob, dressed in thick corduroys and an enormous pith helmet, arrived
punctually with the motor, a Montenegrin Government motor. He had two
companions, a girl simply dressed with coat and skirt which did not
match, and cotton gloves whose burst finger ends were not darned, a Miss
Petrovitch, and an officer. The coachwork--if one may dignify it by such
a phrase--which was made from packing cases, had a thousand creaks and
one abominable squeak, which made conversation impossible.
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