reduced the heat, strained off the water, carefully reserving it for drinking purposes (for congee water isn't half bad), and then let the rice swell and dry for half an hour under a very moderate fire. The result was Rice!
As a grateful accompaniment to this staple comestible, his custom was to prepare a curry, often of prawns, which grow to perfection on the Coromandel Coast. Now, far be it from me to decry the luscious excellence of the American prawn, whose toothsome delicacy has often tickled my palate, but in the interest of truth I must say that the species which flourishes under the Stars and Stripes must retire into insignificance in the matter of size, plumpness, juiciness and flavor when compared with the prawns of Madras. Some of these attain the length of nine inches. Parboiled in sea water, dexterously deprived of their scaly armor, and then impaled on thin strips of bamboo, they were ready for the deft and scientific touch of our Madrassee chef. In an earthenware "chatty" he placed a sufficient quantity of "ghee," or native butter. When this reached the sizzling stage, he added a little finely shred onion and a suspicion of garlic, watching the stewpan with the kindly care of a mother until it reached the golden-brown stage. Next, with tender solicitude, he put in the prawns and the curry and watched the product stew in its own juice until its fragrance enticed all hands with water-
