We're going to wander the country over and report home to the newspapers--South African--British--U.

S.A .-- and any other part of the world that's interested! We won't worry about ammunition.

Send us permits for whatever quantity seems to you proper, and we'll note it all down in our diaries!" We all stood up, the collector obviously uncomfortable and we, if not at ease, at least happier than we had been.
Fred nodded to the collector genially, and we all walked out.
Mombasa is a fairly large island, but the built-over part of it is small, so it was not surprising that we should emerge from the office face to face with Lady Saffren Waldon.

She was the one surprised, not we.

She probably thought she had spiked our guns in that part of the world forever, and the sight of us coming laughing from the very office where we should have been made glum must have been disconcerting.
She was riding on one of the little trolley-cars, pushed by two boys in white official uniform, dressed in her flimsiest best, a lace parasol across her knee, and beside her an obvious member of the government--young, and so recently from home as not to have lost his pink cheeks yet.
Had there not been an awning over the trolley-car she might have used the parasol to make believe she had not seen us.