alignant gods. If there were any possible
alleviating explanation, Memba Sasa made the most of it, provided our
fiasco was witnessed. If we were alone in our disgrace, he buried the
incident fathoms deep. He took an inordinate pride in our using the
minimum number of cartridges, and would explain to me in a loud tone
of voice that we had cartridges enough in the belt. When we had not
cartridges enough, he would sneak around after dark to get some more. At
times he would even surreptitiously "lift" a few from B.'s gunbearer!

When in camp, with his "cazi" finished, Memba Sasa did fancy work! The
picture of this powerful half-savage, his fierce brows bent over a tiny
piece of linen, his strong fingers fussing with little stitches, will
always appeal to my sense of the incongruous. Through a piece of linen
he punched holes with a porcupine quill. Then he "buttonhole" stitched
the holes, and embroidered patterns between them with fine white thread.
The result was an openwork pattern heavily encrusted with beautiful fine
embroidery. It was most astounding stuff, such as you would expect from
a French convent, perhaps, but never from an African savage. He did a
circular piece and a long narrow piece. They took him three months to
finish, and then he sewed them together to form a skull cap. Billy,
entranced with the lacelike delicacy of the work, promptly captured it;
whereupon Memba Sasa philosophically started another.

By this time he had identified himself with my fortunes. We had become
a firm whose business it was to carry out the affairs of a single
personality-me. Memba Sasa, among other things, undertook the dignity.
When I walked through a crowd, Memba Sasa zealously kicked everybody out
of my royal path. When I started to issue a command, Memba Sasa finished
it and amplified it and put a snapper on it. When I came into camp,
Memba Sasa saw to it personally that my tent went up promptly and
properly, although that was really not part of his "cazi" at all. And
when somewhere beyond my ken some miserable boy had committed a crime, I
never remained long in ignorance of that fact.

Perhaps I happened to be sitting in my folding chair idly smoking a
pipe and reading a book. Across the open places of the camp would stride
Memba Sasa, very erect, very rigid, moving in short indignant jerks,
his eye flashing fire. Behind him would sneak a very hang-dog boy. Memba
Sasa marched straight up to me, faced right, and drew one sid