This brief fleeting quarter
hour of glory is unique and passes. It is like crossing the Line, or the
first kiss, something that in its nature cannot be repeated.
The cab was once a noble vehicle, compounded of opulent curves, with a
very high driver's box in front, a little let-down bench, and a deep,
luxurious, shell-shaped back seat, reclining in which one received the
adulation of the populace. That was in its youth. Now in its age the
varnish is gone; the upholstery of the back seat frayed; the upholstery
of the small seat lacking utterly, so that one sits on bare boards. In
place of two dignifiedly spirited fat white horses, it is drawn by two
very small mules in a semi-detached position far ahead. And how it
rattles!
Between the station and the hotel at Nairobi is a long straight wide
well-made street, nearly a mile long, and bordered by a double row of
young eucalyptus. These latter have changed the main street of Nairobi
from the sunbaked array of galvanized houses described by travellers of
a half dozen years back to a thoroughfare of great charm. The iron
houses and stores are now in a shaded background; and the attention is
freed to concentrate on the vivid colouring, the incessant movement, the
great interest of the people moving to and fro. When I left Nairobi the
authorities were considering the removal of these trees, because one row
of them had been planted slightly within the legal limits of the street.
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