“There’s nothing like the spell of the ocean,” murmured Mr. Lewis, as he sat staring up at the star-studded sky.
“Wait till we get to the tropics,” Bob’s father reminded him. “This won’t be anything then.”
“Right you are, Mr. Holton,” came from Joe. “But just where do we land in Africa? I know it’s somewhere along the east coast, but the particular city I don’t know.”
“We’ll pull into Mombasa,” his father explained. “It’s a place of considerable importance and is the eastern terminal of the Uganda Railway. We won’t stay there any longer than we can help. Howard and I would, however, like to look up an old friend whom we haven’t seen for some time. But as soon as we can we’ll get started into the interior.”
“I suppose from what you said that we’ll take a train as far as possible. Right?” asked Bob.
The naturalists nodded.
“That railroad was made to order for us,” said Mr. Lewis. “If it weren’t there, it would mean a long and painful hike through a region that is unimportant to us.”
“Unimportant? Why?” inquired Joe.
“Simply because we are not permitted to shoot any animal in the protectorate,” Mr. Holton explained. “You see, the English have made this a sort of park for the benefit of those who wish to view wild creatures in their natural habitat. For that reason—and also there are others—we intend to penetrate deep into the Congo forests.”