on "finding such a great, strong, brave man as Coutlass to
cherish her." The Greek simply cooed at that--threw out his great
chest and rearranged with his fingers the whiskers that had almost
totally disguised him.

(There was not one of us but looked like a pirate by that time. The
natives of that part of Africa shave every particle of hair from their
bodies whenever they get the chance, and prefer their heads as shiny
and naked as any other part of them. But the German prison system,
devised to break the spirit of whoever came within its clutches,
included prohibition of shaving, so that we had the woolliest crowd of
passengers imaginable.)

We found it impossible to help being sorry for Lady Waldon, or even for
the maid, who suffered in spite of Coutlass's kisses and strong arms.
The obvious fact that the dhow was no place for a woman made us
overlook the conduct of both of them over and over again, shutting eyes
and ears to Lady Waldon's meanness and the maid's increasing impudence.

Lady Waldon actually began to set her own cap at Coutlass, encouraging
him to boast to the porters, and pretending to admire the gift with
which he told them tales in Kiswahili that would have made even her
blush if she had understood the half of them. At intervals the maid
grew jealous, and had to be kissed back to serenity by Coutlass, who
was no less in love with her because of any mere addition to the number
of his interests. He could have made hot love to six women, and have
enjoyed it. There were times when he really flattered himself that
Lady Waldon admired his looks and fine physique.

Food was now the chief concern. We trailed a fishing line behind us,
but caught nothing. Brown said there were too many crocodiles for fish
to be plentiful, but on the other hand, Kazimoto, who surely should
have known, swore that the water was full of big fish, and that the
islanders lived on little else. Whatever the truth of it, we caught
nothing; and when we reached an island whose shore was lined with
fish-traps made of stakes and basket-work we searched all the traps in
vain. The natives we saw in the distance all ran away from us, and
there were no crops that we could see of any kind, which rather bore
out Kazimoto's story.

"Crocks' eggs are what those savages eat, I tell you!" Brown insisted.
"They're wholesome and don't taste worse than a rotten hen's egg." We
offered him his own price if he would eat one himself in the