22 IN AFRICA 



The ship's barber was the Associated Press of the 

 ship's company, and his shop was the Park Row of 

 the vessel. He had plenty of things to talk about 

 and more than enough words to express them. 

 Every vague rumor that floated about was sure to 

 find lodgment in the barber shop, just as a piece of 

 driftwood finally reaches the beach. He knew all 

 the secrets of the voyage and told them freely. 



One day I went down to have my hair trimmed. 

 He asked if I'd have it done African style. "How's 

 that?" I inquired. "Shaved," said he, and "No," 

 said I. A number of the Germans on board were 

 adopting the African style of hair-cut, and the 

 eifect was something depressing. Every bump 

 that had lain dormant under a mat of hair at once 

 assumed startling proportions, and red ears that 

 were retiring suddenly stuck out from the pale 

 white scalp like immense flappers. A devotee of 

 this school of tonsorial art had a peeled look that 

 did not commend him to favorable mention in 

 artistic circles. But the flies, they loved it, so it was 

 an ill wind that blew no good. 



The Red Sea has a well-earned reputation of be- 

 ing hot. We expected a certain amount of sultri- 

 ness, but not in such lavish prodigality as it was de- 

 livered. The first day out from Suez found the 

 passengers peeling off unnecessary clothes, and the 

 next day found the men sleeping out on deck. 

 There wasn't much sleeping. The band concert 

 lasted until ten-thirty, then the three Germans who 

 were trying to drink all the beer on board gave a 



