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"I'll tell you," said the general. "You will be amused, I know. I think I may say, in all modesty, that I have done a rare thing. I have invented a new sensation. May I pour you another glass of port?"

"Thank you, general."

The general filled both glasses, and said, "God makes some men poets.

Some He makes kings, some beggars.

Me He made a hunter.

My hand was made for the trigger, my father said.

He was a very rich man with a quarter of a million acres in the Crimea, and he was an ardent sportsman.

When I was only five years old he gave me a little gun, specially made in Moscow for me, to shoot sparrows with.

When I shot some of his prize turkeys with it, he did not punish me; he complimented me on my marksmanship.

I killed my first bear in the Caucasus when I was ten.

My whole life has been one prolonged hunt.

I went into the army-it was expected of noblemen's sons-and for a time commanded a division of Cossack cavalry, but my real interest was always the hunt.

I have hunted every kind of game in every land.

It would be impossible for me to tell you how many animals I have killed."

The general puffed at his cigarette.

"After the debacle in Russia I left the country, for it was imprudent for an officer of the Czar to stay there.

Many noble Russians lost everything.

I, luckily, had invested heavily in American securities, so I shall never have to open a tearoom in Monte Carlo or drive a taxi in Paris.

Naturally, I continued to hunt-grizzlies in your Rockies, crocodiles in the Ganges, rhinoceroses in East Africa.

It was in Africa that the Cape buffalo hit me and laid me up for six months.

As soon as I recovered I started for the Amazon to hunt jaguars, for I had heard they were unusually cunning.

They weren't." The Cossack sighed.

"They were no match at all for a hunter with his wits about him, and a high-powered rifle.

I was bitterly disappointed.

I was lying in my tent with a splitting headache one night when a terrible thought pushed its way into my mind.

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