A TOWN OF CONTRASTS. 135 



runners ; a Kikuyu, anointed, curled, naked, 

 brass adorned, teeters along, an expression of 

 satisfaction on his face ; a horseman, well 

 appointed, trots briskly by followed by his 

 loping syce ; a string of skin- clad women, their 

 heads fantastically shaved, heavily ornamented, 

 lean forward under the burden of firewood for 

 the market ; a beautiful baby in a frilled peram- 

 bulator is propelled by a tall, solemn, fine-looking 

 black man in white robe and cap ; the driver of 

 a high cart tools his animal past a creaking, 

 clumsy, two-wheeled wagon drawn by a pair of 

 small humpbacked native oxen. And so it goes, 

 all day long, without end. The public rickshaw 

 boys just across the way chatter and game and 

 quarrel and keep a watchful eye out for a possible 

 patron on whom to charge vociferously and full 

 tilt. Two or three old-timers with white whiskers 

 and red faces continue to slaughter thousands 

 and thousands and thousands of lions from the 

 depths of their easy chairs. 



The stone veranda of that hotel is a very 

 interesting place. Here gather men from all 

 parts of East Africa, from Uganda, and the 

 jungles of the Upper Congo. At one time or 

 another all the famous hunters drop into its 

 canvas chairs Cunninghame, Allan Black, Judd, 



