where the soldiers were going. He looked at me in surprise.

"Why, to fight the yellow men, of course," he said. "They

have crossed the border, and are marching toward New

Gondar."

"Who will win?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows?" he said. "I hope

it will be the yellow men, but Menelek is powerful--it will

take many yellow men to defeat him."

Crowds were gathering along the sidewalks to view the

emperor's entry into the city. I took my place among them,

although I hate crowds, and I am glad that I did, for I

witnessed such a spectacle of barbaric splendor as no other

Pan-American has ever looked upon.

Down the broad main thoroughfare, which may once have been

the historic Unter den Linden, came a brilliant cortege. At

the head rode a regiment of red-coated hussars--enormous

men, black as night. There were troops of riflemen mounted

on camels. The emperor rode in a golden howdah upon the

back of a huge elephant so covered with rich hangings and

embellished with scintillating gems that scarce more than

the beast's eyes and feet were visible.

Menelek was a rather gross-looking man, well past middle

age, but he carried himself with an air of dignity befitting

one descended in unbroken line from the Prophet--as was his

claim.

His eyes were bright but crafty, and his features denoted

both sensuality and cruelness. In his youth he may have

been a rather fine looking black, but when I saw him his

appearance was revolting--to me, at least.

Following the emperor came regiment after regiment from the

various branches of the service, among them batteries of

field guns mounted on elephants.

In the center of the troops following the imperial elephant

marched a great caravan of slaves. The old street sweeper

at my elbow told me that these were the gifts brought in