ided whether to hang it
in the hall or the dining-room.

[Illustration: The Hippopotamus that Did Not Know He Was Dead.]

The days I spent on my trip up the river were of delightful
sameness, sunshine by day, with the great panorama drifting past,
and quiet nights of moonlight. For diversion, there were many
hippos, crocodiles, and monkeys, and, though we saw only their
tracks and heard them only in the jungle, great elephants. And
innumerable strange birds--egrets, eagles, gray parrots, crimson
cranes, and giant flamingoes--as tall as a man and from tip to tip
measuring eight feet.

Each day the programme was the same. The arrival at the wood post,
where we were given only excuses and no wood, and where once or
twice we unloaded blue cloth and bags of salt, which is the currency
of the Upper Congo, and the halt for hours to cut wood in the
forest.

Once we stopped at a mission and noted the contrast it made with the
bare, unkempt posts of the State. It was the Catholic mission at
Wombali, and it was a beauty spot of flowers, thatched houses,
grass, and vegetables. There was a brickyard, and schools, and
sewing-machines, and the blacks, instead of scowling at us, nodded
and smiled and looked happy and contented. The Father was a great
red-bearded giant, who seemed to have still stored up in him all the
energy of the North. While the steamer was unloaded he raced me
over the vegetable garden and showed me his farm. I had seen other
of the Catholic Missions, and I spoke of how well they looked, of
the signs they gave of hard work, and of consideration for the
blacks.

"I am not of that Order," the Father said gravely. He was speaking
in English, and added, as though he expected some one to resent it:
"We are Jesuits." No one resented it, and he added: "We have our
Order in your country. Do you know Fordham College?"

Did I know it? If you are trying to find our farm, the automobile
book tells you to leave Fordham College on your left after Jerome
Avenue.

"Of course, I know it," I said. "They have one of the best baseball
nines near New York; they play the Giants every spring."

The Reverend Father started.

"They play with Giants!" he gasped.

I did not know how to say "baseball nines" in French, but at least
he was assured that whatever it was, it was one of the best near New
York.

Then Captain Jensen's little black boy ran up to tell me the
steamer was waiting, and began in Bangalese to beg something