the fence, bumping, colliding, careening dangerously, to drop
beseechingly in serried confusion close around the step. The rickshaw
habit is very strong in Nairobi. If a man wants to go a hundred yards
down the street he takes a rickshaw for that stupendous journey. There
is in justification the legend that the white man should not exert
himself in the tropics. I fell into the custom of the country until I
reflected that it would hardly be more fatal to me to walk a half-hour
in the streets of Nairobi than to march six or seven hours--as I often
did--when on safari or in the hunting field. After that I got a little
exercise, to the vast scandal of the rickshaw boys. In fact, so unusual
was my performance that at first I had fairly to clear myself a way with
my kiboko. After a few experiences they concluded me a particularly
crazy person and let me alone.

Rickshaws, however, are very efficient and very cheap. The runners, two
in number, are lithe little round-headed Kavirondos, generally, their
heads shaved to leave a skull cap, clad in scant ragged garments, and
wearing each an anklet of little bells. Their passion for ornament they
confine to small bright things in their hair and ears. They run easily,
with a very long stride. Even steep hills they struggle up somehow,
zigzagging from one side of the road to the other, edging along an inch
or so at a time. In such places I should infinitely have preferred to
have walked, but that would have lost me caste everywhere. There are
limits even to a crazy man's idiosyncrasies. For that reason I never
thoroughly enjoyed rickshaws, save along the level ways with bells
jingling and feet patpatting a rapid time. Certainly I did not enjoy
them going down the steep hills. The boy between the shafts in front
hits the landscape about every forty feet. I do not really object to
sudden death, but this form of it seemed unfair to some poor hungry
lion.