We have been living on the
fruits of our guns for over a month. Didn't have an idea there
was a white man within a thousand miles of us when we camped last
night by a water hole at the edge of the plain. This morning I
started out to hunt and saw the smoke from your chimney, so I sent
my gun bearer back to camp with the good news and rode straight
over here myself. Of course I've heard of you--everybody who comes
into Central Africa does--and I'd be mighty glad of permission to
rest up and hunt around here for a couple of weeks."
"Certainly," replied Bwana. "Move your camp up close to the river
below my boys' camp and make yourself at home."
They had reached the verandah now and Bwana was introducing the
stranger to Meriem and My Dear, who had just come from the bungalow's
interior.
"This is Mr. Hanson," he said, using the name the man had given him.
"He is a trader who has lost his way in the jungle to the south."
My Dear and Meriem bowed their acknowledgments of the introduction.
The man seemed rather ill at ease in their presence. His host
attributed this to the fact that his guest was unaccustomed to
the society of cultured women, and so found a pretext to quickly
extricate him from his seemingly unpleasant position and lead him
away to his study and the brandy and soda which were evidently much
less embarrassing to Mr.
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