"Tell them," I said to the cook, "that we,
too, have a similar and very powerful god, but much more lively." He
interpreted my words to them.
Then I opened our stores, and drew out with a flourish--our last
remaining bottle of Simla soda-water.
Very solemnly and seriously I unwired the cork, as if performing an
almost sacrosanct ceremony. The monks crowded round, with the deepest
curiosity. I held the cork down for a second with my thumb, while
I uttered once more, in my most awesome tone, the mystic words:
"Hokey--pokey--winky--wum!" then I let it fly suddenly. The soda-water
was well up. The cork bounded to the ceiling; the contents of the bottle
spurted out over the place in the most impressive fashion.
For a minute the Lamas drew back alarmed. The thing seemed almost
devilish. Then slowly, reassured by our composure, they crept back and
looked. With a glance of inquiry at the abbot, I took out my pocket
corkscrew, and drew the cork of the gin-bottle, which had never been
opened. I signed for a cup. They brought me one, reverently. I poured
out a little gin, to which I added some soda-water, and drank first of
it myself, to show them it was not poison.
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