He sang with legs spread wide in front of him, and head thrown back, and, each time he came to the chorus, kept on repeating it until we joined in.
There's a prize that's full familiar from Zanzibar to France; From Tokio to Boston; we are paid it in advance.
It's the wages of adventure, and the wide world knows the feel Of the stuff that stirs good huntsmen all and brings the hounds to heel! It's the one reward that's gratis and precedes the toilsome task-- It's the one thing always better than an optimist can ask! It's amusing, it's amazing, and it's never twice the same; It's the salt of true adventure and the glamour of the game! CHORUS It is tem-tem-pitation! The one sublime sensation! You may doubt it, but without it There would be no derring-do! The reward the temptee cashes Is too often dust and ashes, But you'll need no spurs or lashes When temptation beckons you! Oh, it drew the Roman legions to old Britain's distant isle, And it beckoned H.M.Stanley to the sources of the Nile; It's the one and only reason for the bristling guns at Gib, For the skeletons at Khartoum, and the crimes of Tippoo Tib.
The gentlemen adventurers braved torture for its sake, It beckoned out the galleons, and filled the hulls of Drake! Oh, it sets the sails of commerce, and it whets the edge of war, It's the sole excuse for churches, and the only cause of law! CHORUS It is tem-tem-pitation! etc., etc.
No note is there of failure (that's a tune the croakers sing!) This song's of youth, and strength, and health, and time that's on the wing! Of wealth beyond the hazy blue of far horizons flung-- But never of the folk returning, disillusioned, stung! It's a tale of gold and ivory, of plunder out of reach, Of luck that fell to other men, of treasure on the beach-- A compound, cross-reciprocating two-way double spell, The low, sweet lure to Heaven, and the tallyho to hell! CHORUS It is tem-tem-pitation! The one sublime sensation! You may doubt it, but without it There would be no derring-do! It's the siren of to-morrow That knows naught of lack or sorrow, So you'll sell your bonds and borrow, When temptation beckons you! Once Fred starts there is no stopping him, short of personal violence, and he ran through his ever lengthening list of songs, not all quite printable, until the very coral walls ached with the concertina's wailing, and our throats were hoarse from ridiculous choruses.

As Yerkes put it: "When pa says sing, the rest of us sing too or go crazy!" I went to the window and tried to get a view of shipping through the mango branches.

Masts and sails--lateen spars particularly--always get me by the throat and make me happy for a while.

But all I could see was a low wall beyond the little compound, and over the top of it headgear of nearly all the kinds there are.

(Zanzibar is a wonderful market for second-hand clothes.