And o' course--bein' ignorant, same as me, an' hot-headed, an' eager--you treat that contumelious an' tip the Masai the office to go to hell.

Which they do forthwith.
They're so used to bein' told to go to hell by wishful wanderers that they scarcely trouble to wait for the words.

Presently they draw a long breath an' go away again like smoke being blowed downwind.

An' you proceed onward, dreamin' dreams o' gold an' frankincense an' freedom." "Well, what next ?" said I, for he made a long pause, either for reminiscence or because of headache.
"Whisky next!" he answered.

"I left a little for the morning, didn't I?
I almost always do.