London we had received from McMillan earnest assurances
that he kept open house, and that we must take advantage of his
hospitality should we happen his way. Therefore when one of his
white-robed Somalis approached us to inquire respectfully as to what
we wanted for dinner, we yielded weakly to the temptation and told him.
Then we marched us boldly to the house and took possession.

All around the house ran a veranda, shaded bamboo curtains and vines,
furnished with the luxurious teakwood chairs of the tropics of which you
can so extend the arms as to form two comfortable and elevated rests for
your feet. Horns of various animals ornamented the walls. A megaphone
and a huge terrestrial telescope on a tripod stood in one corner.
Through the latter one could examine at favourable times the herds of
game on the plains.

And inside-mind you, we were fresh from three months in the
wilderness-we found rugs, pictures, wall paper, a pianola, many books,
baths, beautiful white bedrooms with snowy mosquito curtains, electric
lights, running water, and above all an atmosphere of homelike comfort.
We fell into easy chairs, and seized books and magazines. The Somalis
brought us trays with iced and fizzy drinks in thin glasses. When
the time came we crossed the veranda in the rear to enter a spacious
separate dining-room. The table was white with napery, glittering with
silver and glass, bright with flowers. We ate leisurely of a well-served
course dinner, ending with black coffee, shelled nuts, and candied
fruit. Replete and satisfied we strolled back across the veranda to the
main house. F. raised his hand.

"Hark!" he admonished us.

We held still. From the velvet darkness came the hurried petulant
barking of zebra; three hyenas howled.

XXVII. A VISIT AT JUJA

Next day we left all this; and continued our march. About a month later,
however, we encountered McMillan himself in Nairobi. I was just out from
a very hard trip to the coast-Billy not with me-and wanted nothing so
much as a few days' rest. McMillan's cordiality was not to be denied,
however, so the very next day found us tucking ourselves into a
buckboard behind four white Abyssinian mules. McMillan, some Somalis
and Captain Duirs came along in another similar rig. Our driver was a
Hottentot half-caste from South Africa. He had a flat face, a yellow
skin, a quiet manner, and a competent hand. His name was Michael. At his
feet crouched a small Kikuyu savage