"Babus are willing servants, to be treated gently!" Then he saw us.
"You're late! Where's your luggage?
These your porters?
All right--put you on your honor.

Go on through.

Save time.

Have your stuff weighed, and settle the bill at Nairobi.

All of it, mind! Babu, let these people through!" Followed by Courtney, who seemed to have right of way wherever it suited him to wander, we filed through the gate, crossed the blazing hot platform, and boarded a compartment labeled "Reserved." The railway man nodded and left us, to hurry and help sell tickets.
It was an Indian type railway carriage be left us in, a contraption not ill-suited to Africa--nor yet so comfortable as to diminish the sensation of travel toward new frontiers.
Each car was divided into two compartments, entirely separate and entered from opposite ends; facing ours was the rear end of a second-class car, into which we could look if the doors were open and we lay feet-foremost on the berths.