"No place for boys.

Heap too many plenty people.

Pitching camp, that good!" "All right," said Fred, and then and there paid our baggage charges.
Presently Brown of Lumbwa, who had spent most of the daylight hours in the little corrugated iron bar run by a Goanese in the bazaar, came lurching past the township camping ground, and viewed Kazimoto with his gang pitching our tents.

He asked questions, but could get no information, so came along to us.
"Where you schaps going ?" he demanded, leaning against the wall.

Fred took advantage of the opportunity and examined him narrowly as to his knowledge of German East and ways of getting there.