"I've been many trips without one. This tree is good to lean against----"
They chatted about trivial matters. A certain ease had crept into their relations: a guard had been lowered. To a small extent they ventured to question each other, to indulge in those tentative explorations of personality so fascinating in the early stages of acquaintanceship. To her inquiries Kingozi repeated that he was an ivory hunter and trader; he came into this country because new country alone offered profits in ivory these days; he had been in Africa for fifteen years. At this last she looked him over closely.
"You came out very young," she surmised.
"When my father took me out of the medical school to put me into the ministry. I had a knack for doctoring. I ran away."
"Why did you come to Africa?"
"Didn't particularly. Started for Iceland on a whaling ship. Sailed the seven seas after the brutes. Landed on the Gold Coast--and got left behind."
She looked at him hard, and he laughed.
"'Left' with my kit and about sixty pounds I had hung on to since I left home--my own money, mind you! And a harpoon gun! Lord!" he laughed again, "think of it--a harpoon gun! You loaded it with about a peck of black powder. Normally, of course, it shot a harpoon, but you could very near cram a nigger baby down it! And kick! If you were the least bit off balance it knocked you flat. It was the most extraordinary cannon ever seen in Africa, and it inspired more respect, acquired me more kudos than even my beard."
"So that's why you wear it!" she murmured.
"What?"