Even a philosopher, we know, cannot bear the toothache patiently. Every one has at one time or another recognized in himself the unphilosophic tendency to feel irritation at some trivial thing--a speck of mud on one’s clean collar, a hair in one’s soup. We have all been much more deeply annoyed by a slight blemish or mishap than troubled at a really grave misfortune. The plight in which Lawrence now found himself was serious enough to justify an access of rage or despair. But it was not his capture or his bonds that inflicted the severest pang upon his self-esteem. It was the sight of Nurla Bai and his dwarfish henchman making free with the sardine sandwiches which Shan Tai had put up for his especial delectation. When they had bound him, the three Kalmucks glanced around, spied the basket a few feet away, and rushed at it with cries of delight. Lawrence looked on in disgust as they wolfed the eatables--too delicate for their untutored palates, too unsubstantial to appease their ravenous appetite. He felt a thrill of joy when, on the remainder of the party coming up, until there were nine altogether, the new arrivals clamoured for a share, and began to push and snatch just as he had seen a flock of greedy sparrows pecking at one another over a single crust. But though these thieves were falling out, there was no chance of the honest man coming by his own. The contents of the basket soon disappeared, and the men looked round wolfishly for more. At sight of the aeroplane hope flashed upon them, and with one consent they ran to realize it. Lawrence could no longer see them over the edge of the hollow, but he heard their shouts of glee, the creaking of basket lids, and then the steady smacking of eighteen busy lips as they fell upon the viands provided for Major Endicott and his men. He was very angry. He felt not a touch of sympathy for them in their famishment. To him they were merely gluttons, not starving fellow-creatures. During their absence he tried to wriggle out of his bonds, but the work had been well done, and he lay still, wondering what was to become of him. They had not killed him: he was suddenly aware of that agreeable fact, though his pleasure in it was damped when he foresaw a possible long captivity. While they gulped and gloated his thoughts ran round a ring. Would they carry him on with them, going southward? Then they would meet Major Endicott, and there would be a fight. If they, fortified by his own food, should get the upper hand, he would still be their helpless prisoner. If they were beaten, it would be consistent with Nurla Bai’s ferocious temper to kill him before taking to flight. Either way, his case would be deplorable.