We thought it was a policeman arresting an elderly thief; but Jo, seeing blood on the lady’s face, told him he was a “bad man.”  He lurched, staring at her stupidly.  His companions, more firemen, came forward grinning sheepishly, and we recommended them to lead him away out of mischief.  But the next minute a balloon-trousered child rushed up to us and tugged at Jan’s coat.

“Quick, the devil man is doing more bad things.”

We ran down the road beyond the village and saw him in the distance dancing on an old Turk’s bare feet with hobnailed boots, alternating this amusement with cuffs on the face.  We sprinted along, and seeing a convenient little river wriggling along by the roadside, Jan caught him by the neck and the seat of his trousers, swung him round, and pitched him in.  The man sat for a moment, bewildered, in the water, and then climbed out uttering dreadful oaths; but as he came up Jan knocked him into the water again.

Men in firemen’s uniforms appeared from all sides, shouting—­

“What are you doing?  You mustn’t.  Who are you?”

“We know the governor,” said Jo.  The men were making gestures of deference when the reprobate rushed from the river, aiming a whirling blow at Jan which missed.

The men hurled themselves on him, but he grabbed Jan’s coat to which he clung, howling in unexpected English—­

“Shake ‘ands wi’ y’ ennemi.”  Suddenly everybody spoke English, and we wondered into what sort of a fairy tale had we fallen.

It was lunch time so we did not stay for explanations, but hurried back to the town with the weeping old Turk, gave him our small change, which seemed to cure the pains in his feet, and hunted for the other hotel.

It was tucked away in a romantic back street.  The bar room was tiny, but it was very pleasant to sit round little tables under shady trees in the courtyard.

“What have you for lunch?” we asked a solid-looking waiter boy.

“Nema Ruchak, bogami.”  We have no lunch.  We looked at all the other people absorbing meat and soup.

“Give us what you have.”

“We have nothing, bogami.”

“Have you soup?”

“Yes, bogami.”

“And cheese?”

“Ima, ima, bogami.”

“That will do for us.”

He thereupon brought macaroni soup, boiled meat, roast meat, fried potatoes, cheese, grapes, and coffee.

We never found out why in Montenegro they should make it a point of honour to say they have nothing.  It resembles the Chinese habit of alluding to a “loathsome” wife and a “disgusting” daughter.

After lunch we visited our own hotel and found mine hostess waiting for us with her short arms akimbo.  She wanted the “beautiful large bedroom” to which we had moved in the morning, finding it the same size as the one below, but rather lighter.  Its former occupant had arrived, and we were to go back to the dungeon.