established communication with this terror of the countryside.

Coffee was promptly served, and over my cup I covertly watched him. He was an old fellow of some fifty-five years, I should say, and probably more. His face was yellow with fever, and his eyes very deep in their sockets under a pair of "pent-house" brows. Bald as a coot, with ears of a phenomenal size, he made up a picture which I find it difficult to forget even now. Most fascinating of all, he rejoiced in one tooth only-a front one -which waggled when he spoke, and, as R. pointed out in a brief aside, "flapped in the breeze." In colour it favoured the cobra-black with yellow streaks. Add to this a pair of arms and knees burnt almost black by the sun and covered with a coating of thick, black hair, and you have a tolerable idea of the gentleman to whom we sat opposite in the far-away village of M'tarara.

M. Xavier was his name, and his nationality Greek. In a high-pitched voice, in which there was always an annoying substratum of whine, he told us of his persecution at the hands of the Portuguese. For thirtyeight years he had lived an upright, honest life in East Africa. Before the war he had even possessed a licence to shoot in British territory, which licence he produced to prove his words. Now, for no reason at all other than sheer vindictiveness, he was being chivied by the Portuguese au

thorities up hill and down dale. Furthermore, he had plenty of money and plenty of clothes, and his boys brought out no less than seven tin uniform cases all filled to overflowing with native trade goods, cloth, and beads. A peaceful citizen; a harmless elephant hunter; a poor Greek gentleman earning an honest living in the wilds of Africa ; a sad, harassed, downtrodden, sick, very sick, gentleman - such was M. Xavier, or so he informed us. Did we want to shoot? His armoury was at our disposal ("Boy! bring my bring my guns "). Did we want cloth? He had plenty ("Boy! bring my cloth ").

Did we want fowls? He had many ("Boy! bring four chickens ")-and so on, until in the end the place looked like a box-wallah's display in the old bungalow at Rawal Pindi.

That he was sick was really very evident, and once he had told us of his great virtues and of his greater possessions, he begged us to give him some quinine and aspirin. From our little store we gave him what we could afford-for one can be generous with anything in Africa excepting quinine and aspirin. What we gave him was not enough. He wanted more. With an intolerable whine in his voice he begged us to give him more. I pointed out briefly that we had only (at 5 grains each per day) enough quinine left to carry us to our next stop. Still he whined for more.

I was adamant. I told him I already had no reserve left in case of either of us getting fever; but still he whined.

Finally I rose from the table. "Look here," I said definitely, "I can give you no more quinine and no more aspirin. You say you have got money. Then send a boy through to the store and get some yourself. What I've given you will last you until the boy returns. Understand?"

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But you are hard. I shall die. I am dying now. Just fifty more grains-do!" and the tooth, in his half-open avaricious mouth, swung loosely to and fro.

"Not a grain," said I firmly. For a moment he looked ugly. He closed his mouth like a trap, and left the tooth hanging on the outside.

"Badly timed!" murmured R., and at that moment the Greek opened his lips, and, tossing back his head like a horse, trapped the tooth neatly on the inside of his mouth.

'Where did this come from?" I asked, for we had shot nothing that day.

"The white man sold it to us," said the boys.

"Sold it?" asked R. in amazement, for no white man ever sells meat to the porters of another white man. It isn't done.

However, the Greek had done it all right, and R. was furious.

"I'm glad you didn't give the blighter that quinine," he observed at dinner.

"So am I," I replied heartily. After dinner we had a further deputation from M. Xavier bearing his last dying request for quinine. It was unfortunate that it arrived on the top of the meat question, for like another illustrious gentleman, we hardened our hearts and would not let the quinine go. And the deputation went empty away.

Early next morning we left M'tarara, without saying goodbye to the Greek, and continued our way northwards. We thought we had seen the last of the elusive white man, and never for one moment

Presently we took our departure, and on the way back to

to have a considerable influence on our lives!

We often wondered in the months that followed what had

Arriving in the camp we found our boys eating meat.

had passed on from Mtarara, and we knew he was still alive, but beyond that his nove ments were shrouded in sience. For seven months he was dead to the world, and then one day a boy came into our camp

R., knocked completely endways, sat rocking himself to and fro on the edge of the verandah.

"My boots!" was all he could say. "My boots!" for he had wanted those boots badly, and they represented a trip of nearly eight hundred miles to the store and back.

Next morning I started off for N'Goombi. I did the trip in four days, and to my abiding sorrow found M. Xavier in bed suffering from severe influenza. It was as much as I could do to prevent myself tearing him from his bed. As it was, I had to content myself with telling him exactly what I thought of him, called him a thieving nigger in various terms, and then rescued what was left of our stolen stores from his tent. Finally, I told him that if I caught him within a mile of my camp I'd shoot him, and I repeated the threat to his boys. As I left the tent he called me back. I stopped.

"Won't you send me the other five pounds, please?" he whined.

For a moment I could only stand and stare. After all I'd said and all I'd done, he was still asking for money! I was quite beyond speech. I literally foamed at the mouth with impotent rage. How I

After this episode there was peace in the land for a few months, until towards the end of the following September, when it became necessary for one of us to go up to P—, the Boma. We had some ammunition coming up from the coast that would require a pass in British territory, and also we wanted a few stores. It was R.'s turn for safari, and he set about packing up for the two hundred miles trip. It was while he was packing that a boy came in with a note. One glance at the handwriting was sufficient. It was from M. Xavier, the Greek.

R. sat down and steadily translated the Swaheli into English. Since we had become more proficient in this language we used it in preference to French when dealing with the Greek.

"What is it this time?" I asked, feeling angry at the mere sight of his letter. R. snorted.

"Read it," he said sardonically.

"DEAR BWANA N (I read],-I am writing to tell

you that my boys tell me you have plenty of empty bottles in your camp. I am wanting to make alcohol (gin), and if you will send me these bottles I will make you some alcohol (gin) for two shillings per bottle. I am an expert alcohol (gin) maker, and if you have any old gun barrels that you can send me, for distilling, I shall be very glad. If not, will you please buy me some native guns, so that I can distil my alcohol (gin) as quickly as possible.

"Please send me some quinine and a pair of boots (size 8).-I am, Bwana, your friend,

A. XAVIER." "P.S.-Could you please send me £2 ↑ "