MY WIFE HOLDS THE GUN 233 



and she always has plenty of hard work on hand. 

 When she is in the field she often rides and walks 

 fifteen or twenty miles a day. At home she is con- 

 tinually tinkering with her garden or about our house. 

 She rises early and goes to bed soon after dark. 



She is not introspective. Indeed, I have never 

 known a person to think so little of self. 



I have been asked if it is much of an effort to keep 

 Osa from the pursuits of other women. I confess 

 that she is normal enough to like pretty clothes and 

 bridge and dancing. Sometimes at home in America 

 I have a sneaking fear that such things are weaning 

 her away from me and our work. But there always 

 comes a time when she secretly slips back to me and 

 whispers: "Oh, Martin, I'll be so glad when we get 

 back to Africa ! " 



People wonder what Osa and I talk about on our 

 long safaris often with no companions other than the 

 hundred or so black porters who handle our camels 

 and carry our baggage. 



We talk much about the things that mean the least 

 to us. In human beings there is always the desire 

 to know what the other fellow thinks. We talk 

 about America and wonder what the folks are doing 

 back there. We talk of happenings of the day. 

 So-and-so did this or that wrong; we must tell him 

 not to do it again. 



We do less talking together than people in civiliz- 



