188 AFRICAN CAMP FIRES. 



at dusk to find supper ready for us. As we were 

 old campaigners we ate this off chop boxes as 

 tables, and sat on the ground. It was served 

 by a Wakamba youth we had nicknamed Her- 

 bert Spencer, on account of his gigantic intellect. 

 Herbert meant well, but about all he succeeded 

 in accomplishing was a pathetically wrinkled 

 brow of care and scared eyes. He had never 

 been harshly treated by any of us, but he acted 

 as though always ready to bolt. If there were 

 twenty easy right methods of doing a thing and 

 one difficult wrong method, Herbert would get 

 the latter every time. No amount of experience 

 could teach him the logic of our simplest ways. 

 One evening he brought a tumbler of mixed 

 water and condensed milk. Harold Hill glanced 

 into the receptacle. 



" Stir it," he commanded briefly. 



Herbert Spencer obeyed. We talked about 

 something else. Some five or ten minutes later 

 one of us noticed that Herbert was still stirring, 

 and called attention to the fact. When the 

 latter saw our eyes were on him he speeded up 

 until the spoon fairly rattled in the tumbler. 

 Then, when he thought our attention had relaxed 

 again, he relaxed also his efforts the spoon 

 travelled slower and slower in its dreamy circle. 



