Red Indians and other people who have neither matches nor burning glasses, set fire by rubbing wood together.
The easiest way is by putting Wat of dry wood on the ground and boring a hole through it with a stick of dry wood, twirling the stick by means of a bow string. The friction of the two woods causes the kind of sawdust which comes from the hole to get red hot and if fa Tittle punk is then placed on it and blown into it it brings a flame.
The American Scouts at the Jan\- ore gave a very good display of five lighting in this, way.
So soon as you have got your Kindling fire alight, add bigger dry sticks, upright and leaning together, until you can- get a really strong fire going, when logs can be added.
But for a cooking fire use plenty of sticks at first, as they make the hot ashes and embers, which are ret neces for cocking. page, gives him notes from the rapidly filling box by her side, Just so, she bets through the afternoon, never leaving, even for a: glimpse the races, her place by the door.
Now comes the bell for the fourth race. Cross-breds this time; jibbing, corvetting under their jockeys al the starting.wire, Flash of jockey's colours,, primrose, violet und crin-fon, green and gold—down towards the' judges' stand.
"My-Aunt! What a procession!" "Is that the chestnut ahead?
"No, it's Apollo."
"Apollo! Apollo!"
The tumult died away to a clear and appalling silence, The heads of the crowd leaned forward in motionless expectation. Only the staccato beat of hoofs rang through the air, The crowd had turned, To the rail beside me leaped a man, like a bird.
"he shouted wild-
Above the bod saw two plunging heads. They came down the stretch in silence, the spectators standing as though struck into stone. Apollo led by the fraction of a foot, His flying hoofs seemed never to strike the ground. He was like an advancing shadow of incredible swiftness. A low-itched voice muttered beside me, "Boy! Boy! Boy! Let him have itt Let him have it! I'm telling' you.
Go it! Go From ind came another hystorical got to do it now.
He can't lose! He-can't lose!
The crowd thrust out its arms and began to implore. Apollo was ahead. His red nostrils "flared to the wind. He came under the wire ina great plunge. Jill was defeated.
From the edge of the grand stand came a single shout. It grew and ran around the field—a tribute to the winner, a tribute to the van Again the milling of people in the court below. Chinese police in khaki move through the crowds. One of them examines with interest the tin helmet of an associate. Te
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.