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"My contribution to your education." "Cool. Thanks." Within minutes a meal appeared on the table. "How do you cook without pans, Joe?" "A pot and a wok what more do you need?" "Really, Joe." She sniffed his olive oil. "I knew I should have brought some," she said. He uncorked a bottle of Chianti and gave her the house glass. "I'll use the mug. Happy days." "Happy days, Joe."

"He's a jolly dog," said Tom to Frank. "But, say, I've been thinking of having some fun with him before this spread comes off." "Let me in on the ground floor," pleaded Frank, who always wok a great interest in Tom's jokes. "I will, on one condition, Frank." "And what is that?" "That you loan me that masquerade suit you have in your trunk. The one you used at that New Year's dance at home."

Even with sharp axes we should have found some difficulty; but it was very heavy work with our knives. Still, it had to be done. Water was the first thing we required. We had progressed a hundred yards or less, though it had appeared to us upwards of a mile, when we heard close to us a peculiar cry, which sounded something like, "Wawk wawk wawk! Wok wok wok!" loud and shrill above our heads.

For the kitchen, he bought a toaster, a tea kettle, a pot for cooking rice, and a wok. He set up a minimalist home: one plate, a bowl and a mug, chopsticks. He splurged on an eight inch chef's knife. After a week of moving the plastic chair in and out, he bought a straight backed wooden chair for inside. He bought an exercise mat which he left spread out in the main room.

In a few minutes, however, he appeared to get his feelings under control, and dropped to a single-note cry, often repeated. It differed widely from his loud call, "wok! wok! wok!" still more from the husky tones of his conversation with others of his kind; neither was it like the war-cries with which he intimated to another bird that he was not invited to breakfast.

In a short time, as the sun was tingeing the lofty tops of the trees, we heard the well-known sound of "Wawk wawk wawk! Wok wok wok!"

"Yawk, yawk wok, wok, wok, wok, wok," rang out close behind us, and we both fired simultaneously at a faint gleam of what seemed to be yellow light as it flitted through the glade, running forward to get beyond the smoke in the hope that we might have hit it.

We made some progress, but still clasp-knives were very inadequate tools for the work we had undertaken. Every now and then, as we were labouring on silently, we heard the same cry of Wawk wawk wawk! Wok wok wok! and caught sight of magnificent birds flitting among the higher branches of the trees, but so rapidly did they move, that we could scarcely distinguish their forms.

Our guides would have preferred the spirit undiluted, as they are fond of potent liquors as well as of strong-tasted food. At early morn, before the sun rose, we heard the well-known cry of "Wawk wawk wawk! Wok wok wok!" resounding through the forest, and continually changing its direction.