Swore train-thieves 'ud murder 'em! I had to leave 'em my key to lock 'emselves in with until I come back with the grub! What d'you think of that ?" But our soup came, and one could not think and eat that stuff simultaneously.

The railway man looked up for a moment, saw my face, and explained in a moment of expansiveness that meat would not keep in that climate but was "perfectly good" when cooked.
"Besides," he added, "you'll get nothing more until you reach Nairobi tomorrow noon!" That turned out to be not quite true, but as an argument it worked.

We swallowed, like the lined-up merchant seamen taking lime-juice under the skipper's eye.
The guard grew impatient and went into the kitchen, but had scarcely got through the door when a scream came from the direction of the train that brought him back on the run.

No black woman ever screams in just that way, and in a land of black and worse-than-black men imagination leaps at a white woman's call for help.
There was a stampede for the door by every one except the Greeks and Goanese and the railway man.

(He had to guard the money.) We poured through the screen doors, the guard fighting to burst between us, and, because with a self-preserving instinct that I have never thought quite creditable to the human race, everybody ran toward his own compartment, it happened that we three and the two officials and the guard came first on the scene of trouble.
Brown of Lumbwa was still drunk-affectionate, it seemed, by that time.
"You've no call to be 'fraid of me, li'l sweetheart!" The door was open.