Dear Phylis: You will imagine what a long, impatient morning this has been when I tell you that before dawn broke the whole neighborhood, with the exception of your servant, was off after an elk—this is the great Sir Samuel's country—and that he had to lie up and listen for hours to the dogs yapping through the jungle and the men shouting to each other. About breakfast-time (11 a.m.) the hunt trailed in with a carved elk, and all the dogs that had not been captured by chetahs. Did you ever see a chetah? A tame one—they are never tame—thinks he is a kind of leopard, and has long, thin legs for a body, a bandage across his eyes, two small, round, nervous ears, and a large snarl for a head, and is led by a string. A wild one lives in the jungle, and is a yellow streak full of people's pet dogs. All of which has nothing to do with the impatient morning I have passed. I wanted to go so! You go very light, and carry a stick like a broom-handle with a hunting-knife lashed to one end, and after you've run
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