No one had a quart of milk to spare on the road to Angola, so I hit on a plan which I recommend to others in like circumstances. I went to a farmhouse and asked for a cupful of milk to have with my coffee; I got it easily and freely. The farmer was rather touched. But as you cannot make decent coffee with one cupful of milk I went to another farm and begged another cupful, and then to another. I was able to make a good pot of coffee, despite the scarcity of milk.
Whilst I was having lunch, I had an interesting talk with an ancient man who was mowing grass at the side of the road.
"You look like Father Time," said I.
"Well, I've mown a good many days," he replied. "I shall soon die now. There's no strength in me; my day is over."
"Have you enjoyed life?" I asked.
"Yes, I have," he replied, his face lighting up.
"Do you work your farm yourself?"
"No! My son works it; he is twenty-two. Yes, I married late. Thirty-two years I wandered as you are doing. I've been in thirty states. I was ten years on the Lakes, a sailor."
"Ever across the Atlantic?"
"Never on the big waters."