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fine malaria pest-hole!—Hindus with malaria crescents in their blood as any searcher could possibly want. He advertised for helpers. An assorted lot of dark-skinned men came, and of these he chose two. The first, Mahomed Bux, Ronald Ross hired because he had the appearance of a scoundrel, and (said Ross) scoundrels are much more likely to be intelligent. The second assistant Ross chose was Purboona. All we know of that man is that he had the booming name of Purboona, and Purboona lost his chance to become immortal because he vamoosed after his first pay day.

So Ross and Mr. Mahomed Bux set to work to try to find once more the black-dotted circles in the stomachs of mosquitoes. Mr. Mahomed Bux sleuth-footed it about, among the sewers, the drains, the stinking tanks of Calcutta, catching gray mosquitoes and brindled mosquitoes and brown and green dappled-winged ones. They tried all kinds of mosquitoes (within the limits of Ronald Ross's feeble knowledge of the existing kinds). And Mr. Mahomed Bux? He was a howling success. The mosquitoes seemed to like him, they would bite Hindus for this wizard of a Mahomed when Ross could not make them bite at all—Mahomed whispered things to his mosquitoes. . . . And a rascal? No. Mr. Mahomed Bux had just one little weakness—he faithfully got thoroughly drunk once a week on Ganja. But the experiments? They turned out as miserably as Mahomed turned out beautifully, and it was easy for Ross to wonder whether the heat was causing him to see things last year at Begumpett.

Then the God of Gropers came to help Ronald Ross. Birds have malaria. The malaria microbe of birds looks very like the malaria microbe of men. Why not try birds?

So Mr. Mahomed Bux went forth once more and cunningly snared live sparrows and larks and crows. They put them in cages, on beds, with mosquito bar over the cages, and Mahomed slept, with one eye open, on the floor between the beds to keep away the cats.

On St. Patrick's day of the year 1898, Ronald Ross let loose