AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



all lettered freshly an enormous kit doomed to 

 diminution. They overflow the place, ebb toward 

 their respective rooms; return scrubbed and ruddy, 

 correctly clad, correctly unconscious of everybody 

 else; sink into more wicker chairs. The quiet brown 

 and yellow men continue to puff on their cheroots, 

 quite eclipsed. After a time one of them picks up 

 his battered old sun helmet and goes out into the 

 street. The eyes of the newcomers follow him. 

 They fall silent; and their eyes, under cover of 

 pulled moustache, furtively glance toward the lean 

 man's companions. Then on that office falls a 

 great silence, broken only by the occasional rare 

 remarks of the quiet men with the cheroots. The 

 youngsters are listening with all their ears, though 

 from their appearance no one would suspect that 

 fact. Not a syllable escapes them. These quiet 

 men have been there, they have seen with their own 

 eyes, their lightest word is saturated with the 

 mystery and romance of the unknown. Their easy, 

 matter-of-fact, everyday knowledge is richly won- 

 derful. It would seem natural for these young- 

 young men to question these old-young men of 

 that which they desire so ardently to know; but 

 that isn't done, you know. So they sit tight, and 

 pretend they are not listening, and feast their ears 

 on the wonderful syllables Ankobur, Kabul, 



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