one of the buildings which had formerly
housed the French Administration officers back in the days when the area
was known as the French Sudan.

Inside, the boy strangers turned to her and the one who had spoken at
the river bank said in English, "How goes it?"

"Heavens to Betsy," Isobel Cunningham said with a grin, "get me a drink.
If I'd known majoring in anthropology was going to wind up with my doing
a strip tease with a bunch of natives in the Niger River, I would have
taken up Home Economics, like my dear old mother wanted!"

They laughed with her and Jacob Armstrong, the older of the two, went
over to a sideboard and mixed her a cognac and soda. "Ice?" he said.

"Brother, you said it," she told him. "Where can I change out of these
rags?"

"On you they look good," Clifford Jackson told her. He looked
surprisingly like the Joe Louis of several decades earlier.

"That's enough out of you, wise guy," Isobel told him. "Why doesn't
somebody dream up a role for me where I can be a rich paramount chief's
favorite wife, or something? Be loaded down with gold and jewelry, that
sort of thing."

Jake brought her the drink. "Your clothes are in there," he told her,
motioning with his head to an inner room. "It wouldn't do the job," he
added. "What we're giving them is the old Cinderella story." He looked
at his watch. "If we get under way, we can take the jet to Kabara and go
into your act there. It's been nearly six months since Kabara and
they'll be all set for the second act."

She knocked back the brandy and made her way to the other room, saying
over her shoulder, "Be with you in a minute."

"Not that much of a hurry," Cliff called. "Take your time, gal, there's
a bath in there. You'll probably want one after a week of living the way
you've been."

"Brother!" she agreed.

Jake was making himself a drink. He said easily to Cliff Jackson,
"That's a fine girl. I'd hate her job. We get the easy deal on this
assignment."

Cliff said, "You said it, Nigger. How about mixing me a drink, too?"

"Nigger!" Jake said in mock indignation. "Look who's talking." His voice
took on a burlesque of a Southern drawl. "Man when the Good Lawd was
handin' out _cullahs_, you musta thought he said _umbrellahs_, and said
give me a nice black one."

Cliff laughed with him and said, "Where do we plant poor Isobel next?"

Jake thought about it. "I don't know. The kid's been putting in a lot of
time. I think after about a week i