up on the other side. How far is it to Den
Pasar?"

"Only about sixty miles and you'll have a tolerably good mountain road
all the way. But you can't go today."

"Why not?"

"Menjepee," was the laconic answer. "You won't be able to get anyone to
take you. There are only four or five motor cars in Boeleleng and their
drivers are all Hindus."

I smothered an expletive of annoyance, for my time was limited and the
_Negros_ had already sailed.

"Surely you don't mean to tell me that there is no way in which I can
get across the island today?" I demanded. "This Menjepee business is as
infernal a nuisance as a taxicab strike in New York."

"Perhaps the Resident might be able to do something for you," my
acquaintance suggested after a moment's consideration. "He's a good
sort and he's always glad to meet visitors. We don't have many of them
here, heaven knows. Look here. I've a sado outside. Suppose you hop in
and I'll drive you up to the Residency and you can ask the Resident to
help you out."

As we rattled in a sort of governess-cart, called sado, up the broad,
palm-lined avenue which leads from Boeleleng to Singaradja, the seat of
government, three miles away, I caught fleeting glimpses of natives
peering at me furtively over the mud walls which surround their
kampongs, but the instant they saw that they were observed they
disappeared from view. The Resident I found to be a man of charm and
culture who had twice crossed the United States on his way to and from
Holland. At first he was dubious whether anything could be done for me,
explaining that Menjepee is as devoutly observed by the Hindus of Bali
as the fasting month of Ramadan is by the Mohammedans of Turkey, and
that the Dutch officials make it a rule never to interfere with the
religious observances of the natives. He finally consented, however, to
send for the chief priest and see if he could persuade him, in view of
my limited time, to grant a special dispensation to a native who could
drive a car. I don't know what arguments he used, but they must have
been effective, for within the hour we heard the honk of a motor-horn
at the Residency gate.

"We have no hotels in Bali," the Resident remarked as I was taking my
departure, "but I'll telephone over to the Assistant Resident at Den
Pasar to have a room ready for you at the passangrahan--that's the
government rest-house, you know. And I'll also send word to the
Controleur at Kloeng Kloeng that you are co