Miss Brindley, joyfully ready to see Cettinje and anything else that
might turn up, joined Jo and Jan in the old shandrydan carriage which
lumbered along for seven hours to Cettinje.
"We are going to find Turkish delight," said the others, as they
disappeared down a side street, revelling in the idea of a rest.
Cettinje was inches deep in water. We assured the Count de Salis that
much as we needed money to continue the journey, we needed baths more.
This was a weighty matter and needed much thinking out, petroleum being
very scarce. The huge empty Legation kitchen stove was lit and upon it
were placed all the kettles, saucepans, and empty tins in the place; the
picturesque old baggy-breeched porter, his wife, and little boy stoking
hard, and asking lots of questions. One by one we were ushered into a
room, not the bathroom but a room containing the sort of comfortable
bath which makes the least water go the longest way, and also a
beautiful hot stove. This solemn rite occupied a whole afternoon.
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