ON THE MARCH 



conventional society. According to custom, he 

 approached unsmiling, spat carefully in his palm, 

 and shook hands. Then he squatted and waited. 



**What is it.?" we asked after it became evident 

 he really wanted something besides the pleasure of 

 our company. 



"N'dowa — medicine," said he. 



"Why do you not go the Government dispen- 

 sary.?" we demanded. 



"The doctor there is an Indian; I want real medi- 

 cine, white man's medicine," he explained. 



Immensely flattered, of course, we wanted further 

 to know what ailed him. 



"Nothing," said he blandly, "nothing at all; but it 

 seemed an excellent chance to get good medicine." 



After the clinic was all attended to, we retired to 

 our tents and the screeching-hot bath so grateful in 

 the tropics. When we emerged, in our mosquito 

 boots and pajamas, the daylight was gone. Scores 

 of little blazes licked and leaped in the velvet black- 

 ness round about, casting the undergrowth and the 

 lower branches of the trees into flat planes like the 

 cardboard of a stage setting. Cheerful, squatted 

 figures sat in silhouette or in the relief of chance 

 high light. Long switches of meat roasted before 

 the fires. A hum of talk, bursts of laughter, the 

 crooning of minor chants mingled with the crack- 



8s 



