THE HIPPOPOTAMUS POOL 



the Thika River. As a rule, so as to avoid getting my 

 clothes wet, I used to make one of the carriers — a 

 big, powerful man — take me on his shoulders. It was 

 all he had to do during the day, but probably because 

 of that fact he tried to imitate Jeshurun of old. He 

 waxed fat and kicked. I had been warned by the other 

 boys that he was always grumbling, and that he meant, 

 if possible, to get out of his job, easy though it was. 



When I was in the middle of the stream, my legs 

 round his neck, my precious hippo negatives on my 

 back, the savage pretended to slip, throwing me into 

 the water, and at the same time gripping my legs 

 so as to pull me under. It seemed to me a full two 

 minutes before I could get one leg loose. When I 

 did so, however, I made him realise that I was wearing 

 heavy shooting boots. As soon as that fact came home 

 to him he let go and I scrambled ashore. When I 

 landed I was not actually in an Uncle TonCs Cabin 

 frame of mind. I got the Askari to reprimand that 

 carrier, and I knew that that same Askari had most 

 sane and wholesome ideas on the subject of discipline, 

 and was in a position to enforce them. 



We left the Tana River as soon as I had secured 

 my hippo pictures and headed for Nairobi, following 

 the course of the Thika River. On the way I was 

 fortunate enough to get some photographs of a 

 marabou stork, taking them from a most ingenious 

 hiding-place which my boys had fixed up for me. As 



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