R. O. Scott Memorials A. W. Horton A wild and woolly looking nomad walked up to our back door one day. He had a little sack in his hand which contained something like dried cheese. I have often seen this form of nourishment among the nomads but so far have not yet developed a taste for it. The sack to begin with is filthily dirty and, as he carries it to town inside his smelly sheepskin garment, if it ever had any appetizing effect, is completely gone when one remembers its precarious history. The nomad produced the sack: "Would I let him have an empty bottle—the size was immaterial—in exchange for this dried cheese?" He was followed by another nomad and together they made the request, "Could they come in and see the house An invitation was immediately given and in they walked. We had a little conversation, 3 tune or two on the gramophone, the sack of dried cheese was produced and again the request was made for an empty bottle. Both nomads were very pleasant and one of them we had met before. Further conversation was engaged in and once more the sack was held up. Both nomads assured us the dried cheese was not only clean but very good. The Tibetans have the impression that we like things very clean and when the nomads come in they rub their hands on the varnished floor to show each other how clean it is.
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.