UP FROM THE COAST. 131 



he is ravished away by the friend, or agent, or 

 hotel representative who has met him, and hur- 

 ried out through the gates between the impassive 

 and dignified Sikh sentries to the cab. I be- 

 lieve nobody but the newcomer ever rides in the 

 cab ; and then but once, from the station to 

 the hotel. After that he uses rickshaws. In 

 fact it is probable that the cab is maintained 

 for the sole purpose of giving the newcomer a 

 grand and impressive entrance. This brief fleet- 

 ing quarter hour of glory is unique and passes. 

 It is like crossing the Line, or the first kiss, some- 

 thing that in its nature cannot be repeated. 



The cab was once a noble vehicle, com- 

 pounded of opulent curves, with a very high 

 driver's box in front, a little let-down bench, 

 and a deep, luxurious, shell-shaped back seat, 

 reclining in which one received the adulation of 

 the populace. That was in its youth. Now in 

 its age the varnish is gone ; the upholstery of the 

 back seat frayed ; the upholstery of the small 

 seat lacking utterly, so that one sits on bare 

 boards. In place of two dignifiedly spirited fat 

 white horses, it is drawn by two very small mules 

 in a semi-detached position far ahead. And how 

 it rattles ! 



Between the station and the hotel at Nairobi 



