Then we dumped in our few potatoes and
a single guinea fowl that F. had decapitated earlier in the day. We
ate; and passed the pot over to Memba Sasa.
So far, so good; but we were still very wet, and the uncomfortable
thought would obtrude itself that the safari might not get in that day.
It behoved us at least to dry what we had on. I hunted up Memba Sasa,
whom I found in a native hut. A fire blazed in the middle of the floor.
I stooped low to enter, and squatted on my heels with the natives.
Slowly I steamed off the surface moisture. We had rather a good time
chatting and laughing. After a while I looked out. It had stopped
raining. Therefore I emerged and set some of the men collecting
firewood. Shortly I had a fine little blaze going under the veranda roof
of the station. F. and I hung out our breeches to dry, and spread the
tails of our shirts over the heat. F. was actually the human chimney,
for the smoke was pouring in clouds from the breast and collar of his
shirt. We were fine figures for the public platform of a railway
station!
We had just about dried off and had reassumed our thin and scanty
garments, when the babu emerged. We stared in drop-jawed astonishment.
He had muffled his head and mouth in a most brilliant scarf, as if for
zero weather; although dressed otherwise in the usual pongee. Under one
arm he carried a folded clumsy cotton umbrella; around his waist he had
belted a huge knife; in his other hand he carried his battle-axe.
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