SEFARI LIFE I51 
sandals. The men willingly pay half a rupee to him for 
a pair, and they supply the material. 
The barber is in a class by himself; among all the trades 
he seemed to me to claim an undeserved preéminence. 
But the wonders he performs with a sharp hunting knife 
are beyond me. He will shave three to six completely 
accurately drawn, circles, round the patient’s (sic) head — 
these circles are half to three quarters of an inch in width 
and are as regularly drawn as though the great man used 
a compass. I have never seen him draw blood — no 
hedge-cutting, shrub-trimming Dutchman in Holland ever 
produced, on his favourite greenery, stranger or cleverer por- 
trayals of still life, or animal life, than the sefari barber 
cuts off, or leaves on, or makes up, in a native’s woolly hair! 
The sefari doctor, however, is important, too. If you 
fail the men, or if your “‘dowa”’ is too strong (they hate 
liquid quinine — which is, of course, the best form in which 
to give the drug to a man in fever) they hie them to him, 
and pay him too. The compounding of his medicine he 
keeps to himself. I never could get him to tell me any- 
thing. Speaking of doctoring, I found that, occasionally, 
the men suffered much from toothache, and I regretted 
that I hadn’t brought along a forceps, and had not taken 
a few lessons in tooth drawing. 
Hoey (my professional hunter, a fine fellow, who accom- 
panied me on my late trip, when I rode lions) always car- 
ried one, and as he was very muscular, had never been 
beaten by even a back grinder, but his methods seemed 
to me rather forceful. 
I learned something about “my boys” as I strolled 
among their little fires of an evening. I was surprised at the 
natives’ aptitude for industrial work; and encouraging 
and developing this is surely the best way to help and 
elevate him. Practically nothing has yet been attempted 
here, and all work in iron, wood, and stone is left to the 
