The Bada-Mawidi live in
some of the wretched nullahs. There is sport, of course, of a kind, but
not perhaps the best. I should recommend you to try the more easterly
hills."
The speaker's manner was destitute of all attempt to dissuade, and yet
Lewis felt in some remote way that this man was trying to dissuade him.
The rock-wall, the Bada-Mawidi, whatever it was, something existed
between Bardur and the Russian frontier which this pleasant gentleman
did not wish him to see.
"Our plans are all vague," he said, "and of course we are glad of your
advice."
"And I am glad to give it, though in many ways you know the place better
than I do. Your book is the work of a very clever and observant man, if
you will excuse my saying so. I was thankful to find that you were not
the ordinary embryo-publicist who looks at the frontier hills from
Bardur, and then rushes home and talks about invasion."
"You think there is no danger, then?"
"On the contrary, I honestly think that there is danger, but from a
different direction. Britain is getting sick, and when she is sick
enough, some people who are less sick will overwhelm her. My own
opinion is that Russia will be the people."
"But is not that one of the old cries that you object to?" and Lewis
smiled.
"It was; now it is ceasing to be a cry, and passing into a fact, or as
much a fact as that erroneous form of gratuity, prophecy, can be.
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