Every time you come around me I end up getting shot at." Major Arnold smiled blandly. "Never give it a thought, Jim. I don't. They can't shoot a man that was born to be hung." "Huh!" Ponga Jim emptied his glass and reached for the bottle. "That's a swell crack from the guy whose bacon I've saved at least twice. If it wasn't for me you'd have lost the war right here in the East Indies. And you, a British intelligence officer, razzing me. It pains me, William, it really pains me!" "All of which," Major Arnold continued, ignoring him, "reminds me. How did you ever get that `Ponga' tied to your name?" Mayo grinned complacently and settled back in his chair. "It's a long story, William. A story that will make your pink British ears pinker, and much too rough for your sensitive moral condition. However, over in Africa, there's a place called Gabon, and in Gabon is a town called Ponga-Ponga. Now, a few years past over in Ponga-Ponga was a young man named Mayo, and-" "Jim," Major Arnold whispered suddenly.
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