C.'s man was an educated Coast Swahili named Abba Ali. This individual
was very smart. He wore a neatly-trimmed Vandyke beard, a flannel
boating hat, smart tailored khakis, and carried a rattan cane. He was
alert, quick, and intelligent. His position was midway between that of
personal boy and headman.

Of the rank and file we began with twenty-nine. Two changed their minds
before we were fairly started, and departed in the night. There was no
time to get regular porters; but fortunately a Kikuyu chief detailed two
wild savages from his tribe to act as carriers. These two children of
nature drifted in with pleasant smiles and little else save
knick-knacks. From our supplies we gave them two thin jerseys, reaching
nearly to the knees. Next day they appeared with broad tucks sewed
around the middle! They looked like "My Mama didn't use wool soap." We
then gave it up, and left them free and untrammelled.

They differed radically. One was past the first enthusiasms and vanities
of youth. He was small, unobtrusive, unornamented. He had no possessions
save the jersey, the water-bottle, and the blanket we ourselves
supplied. The blanket he crossed bandolier fashion on one shoulder. It
hung down behind like a tasselled sash. His face was little and wizened
and old. He was quiet and uncomplaining, and the "easy mark" for all the
rest. We had constantly to be interfering to save him from imposition as
to too heavy loads, too many jobs, and the like. Nearing the close of
the long expedition, when our loads were lighter and fewer, one day C.
spoke up.

"I'm going to give the old man a good time," said he. "I doubt if he's
ever had one before, or if he ever will again. He's that sort of a meek