AFRICAN CAMP FIRES 



the arches into the black, mysterious night, for it 

 was very hot; and we rather dreaded the necessary 

 mosquito veils as likely to prove stuffy. The mos- 

 quitoes are few in Mombasa, but they are very, 

 very deadly. At midnight the thermometer stood 

 87° F. 

 y Our premonitions as to stuffiness were well justi- 

 fied. After a restless night we came awake at 

 daylight to the sound of a fine row of some sort 

 going on outside in the streets. Immediately we 

 arose, threw aside the lattices, and hung out over 

 the sill. 



The chalk-white road stretched before us. Op- 

 posite was a public square grown with brilliant 

 flowers, and flowering trees. We could not doubt 

 the cause of the trouble. An Indian on a bicycle, 

 hurrying to his office, had knocked down a native 

 child. Said child, quite naked, sat in the middle 

 of the white dust and howled to rend the heavens — 

 whenever he felt himself observed. If, however, 

 the attention of the crowd happened for the moment 

 to be engrossed with the babu, the injured one sat 

 up straight and watched the row with interested 

 rolling pickaninny eyes. A native policeman made 

 the centre of a whirling, vociferating group. He was 

 a fine-looking chap, straight and soldierly, dressed 

 in red tarboosh, khaki coat bound close around the 



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