few grains of quinine, Sparklets water and a crystal or so of
permanganate to turn the mixture a beautiful pink. This
assortment the patient drank with gratitude-and the tears
running down his cheeks.

"He will carry a load to-morrow," F. told the attentive M'ganga.

The next patient had fever. This one got twenty grains of quinine
in water.

"This man carries no load to-morrow," was the direction, "but he
must not drop behind."

Two or three surgical cases followed. Then a big Kavirondo rose
to his feet.

"Nini?" demanded F.

"Homa-fever," whined the man.

F. clapped his hand on the back of the other's neck.

"I think," he remarked contemplatively in English, "that you're a
liar, and want to get out of carrying your load."

The clinical thermometer showed no evidence of temperature.

"I'm pretty near sure you're a liar," observed F. in the
pleasantest conversational tone and still in English, "but you
may be merely a poor diagnostician. Perhaps your poor insides