Ill
THE FRYING IN THE FUMAROLE

Tue perfume of cooking was maddening
here. All the most deliriously appetising
odours I have ever come across in all the
restaurants I have ever known would have
been but a drop in the ocean to this. There
was a vast sound of frying in the air; it
evidently proceeded from the interior of the
crater.

Merioneth said he would lunch with me,
but that Menu was too preoccupied with
some work to come.

“Menu!” said I; “I know that name.” .

“Do you?” said he. ‘What a donkey I
was to mention it to you.”

“Merioneth,” said I suddenly, “why has
the strange man green hair — something

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