nte Cordiale_]

In time he learned to distinguish between Mohammedans and other
dark-complexioned people and held himself aloof from the former, thereby
escaping any humiliating races with the heavy boots of the gunbearers
and other followers of Allah. He made friends with little Ali, the
monkey's valet, a small Swahili boy who looked like a chocolate drop in
color, and like a tooth-powder ad in disposition. It was Ali's duty to
carry the monkey on our marches.

The little gray monkey, with its venerable looking black face fringed
with a sunburst of white hair, would be tied to an old umbrella of the
Sairey Gamp pattern, and would sit upon it as the small boy carried it
along the trails on his shoulder, like a musket. Sometimes when the sun
was strong the umbrella would be raised to shield the monkey's eyes,
which could not stand the fierce glare incident to a long march upon
sun-baked trails. At such times the monkey, who rejoiced in the brief
name of J.T. Jr.--the same being emblazoned on the little silver collar
around its neck--at such times the monkey would scamper from shoulder to
shoulder of the small boy, with occasional excursions up in the woolly
kinks of the heights above. It was a funny picture and one that never
failed to amuse those who watched it.

Well, Little Wanderobo Dog, by some prescient instinct hardly to be
expected in one brought up in a swamp, decided that little Ali and the
monkey were to be his "companions of the march." So, when the tents were
struck and Abdi, the head-man, shouted "_Funga nizigo yaka!_" and the
tented city of yesterday became a scattered heap of sixty-pound porters'
loads, Little Wanderobo would seek out Ali and prepare to bear him
company during the long stretches of the march. And then when the long
line of horsemen, native soldiers, porters, tent boys, gunbearers, ox
gharries, and all began to wind their sinuous way over veldt or through
forest, there was none in the line more picturesque than Ali and J.T.
Jr. surrounded by the affable Little Wanderobo Dog.

[Photograph: Being Posed for a Post Mortem Picture]

[Photograph: By courtesy of W.D. Boyce. The Triumvirate]

[Drawing: _The Three Comrades_]

It is little wonder that friendship soon ripened into love, and that we
all became speedily and irrevocably attached to the little swamp angel.
His presence in any gathering was like a benediction of good cheer, and
when his tail was in full swing he looked like a golde