IN THE JUNGLE 



their pretty bodies held rigidly upright. The war- 

 riors, very erect and military, stared straight ahead. 



And the chief? Was he the centre of the show, the 

 important leading man, to the contemplation of 

 whom all these glories led? Not at all! This par- 

 ticular chief did not have the soul of a leading man, 

 but rather the soul of a stage manager. Quite for- 

 getful of himself and his part in the spectacle, his 

 brow furrowed with anxiety, he was flittering from 

 one to another of the performers. He listened care- 

 fully to each singer in turn, holding his hand behind 

 his ear to catch the individual note, striking one on 

 the shoulder in admonition, nodding approval at 

 another. He darted unexpectedly across to scru- 

 tinize a warrior, in the chance of catching a flicker 

 of the eyelid even. Nary a flicker! They did their 

 stage manager credit, and stood like magnificent 

 bronzes. He even ran across to peer into our own 

 faces to see how we liked it. 



With a sudden crescendo the music stopped. 

 Involuntarily we broke into handclapping. The 

 old boy looked a bit startled at this, but we ex- 

 plained to him, and he seemed very pleased. We 

 then accepted formally the heap of presents, by 

 touching them and in turn passed over a blanket, 

 a box of matches, and two needles, together with 

 beads for the beebees. Then F., on an inspiration, 



255 



