146 
THE KILIMA-NJABO EXPEDITION\ 
uninteresting to the reader that I am glad I stopped 
short in time. Give me a quarter of an hour after 
my bath, and I am clothed, and brushed, and spruce, 
and standing at my cottage door lustily ringing a 
small hand-bell. When its last brazen tinkle is silent, 
cries are heard from the distant huts of my Swahili 
porters. Tayari, Bwana, Tayari. Aya ! Kazi, 
Kazi! 55 “ Ready, master, ready. Work, to work ! ” 
These ejaculations are meant somewhat to appease 
me while the utterers are turning regretfully from 
their couches or their firesides, and donning their 
scanty garments. Then nine or ten men come run¬ 
ning dowm the incline, for their quarters are higher up 
the hill than mine, and hastily form themselves into 
a line in front of my door. 
I call over the roll: “Cephas?” (Cephas is the 
chief cook, and is engaged in cooking my breakfast, so 
I excuse his reply.) “ Faraji ? ” “ Hdimi, Bwana— 
here I am, sir,” comes a cry from the cowshed, where 
milking is going on. “ Abdallah ? ” (Abdallah is for 
the time being head-man, and Minister of Public Works 
in my Cabinet. He is slightly deceitful, invariably 
courteous, always tidy and smartly dressed, rather a 
rogue but an accomplished one.) “ Hapa, Bwana— 
here, sir.” “Farijala?” “Yes, sir.” (Farijala has 
been an old mission boy, and retains “ Yes, sir,” as 
the last fragment of the English tongue. He also 
sings “ Te Deums ” when at work, imagining them to 
be popular English melodies. He is a good, willing 
fellow, thoroughly honest.) “ Ibrahim ? ” (Ibrahim is 
the best man in the caravan. He is short, fat, with 
an enormous mouth, and always in a good temper.) 
And so I go through the list of names till the twelve 
are accounted for. This task over, I then have to 
