The sensation was that I had been analyzed and card indexed.
"I pay good wages," he remarked, and then stuck his face, beard and all, into the basin of warm water his boy had brought.

"Where did you get that rifle ?" he demanded, spluttering, and combing the beard out with his fingers.
It was on the tip of my tongue to say "At Zanzibar," but, as that might have started him on a string of questions as to how I came to that place and whom I knew there, I temporized.
"Oh, I bought it from a man." "That is no answer!" he retorted.
If I had been possessed of much inclination to play deep games and match wits with big rascals I suppose I would have answered him civilly and there and then learned more of his purpose.

But I was not prepossessed by his charms or respectful of his claim to superiority.
The German type super-education never did impress me as compatible with good breeding or good sense, and it annoyed me to have to lie to him.
"It's all the answer you'll get!" I said.
"Where is your license for it ?" he growled.
The game began to amuse me.
"None of your business!" I answered.
"How long have you been in the country!" "Since I came," I said.
"And you have no license! You have been out shooting.

A lucky thing you came to my camp and not to some other man's! The game laws are very strict!" He spoke then to a boy who was standing behind me, giving him very careful directions in a language of which I did not know one word.

The boy went away.
"The last man who went shooting near Nairobi without a license," he said, "tried to excuse himself before the magistrate by claiming ignorance of the law.