In the morning the order of things changed somewhat. As the first signs of dawn appeared in the eastern heavens, Jumbi aroused the sleeping porters with his cry of “Haya! haya! safari! safari!” Ramathani next arose, and, blowing into a blaze the embers of yesterday’s fire, proceeded to boil the kettle for our matutinal coffee—that is, when we possessed any. A rattle of buckets outside our tent, as the boys poured fresh water into our wash-basins, roused us, and we waited with half-closed eyes for the appearance of the boy Bilali with our freshly greased boots. Juma waited on El Hakim, and sometimes he was a little slack in the performance of his duties. George and I, quietly dressing, would hear something like this from El Hakim’s tent— El Hakim (_in a muffled voice_): “Juma!” No answer. El Hakim (_in raised accents_): “Juma-a!” Still no answer. El Hakim (_in a very loud voice_): “Juma-a-a!” (Sotto voce): “Where the devil _is_ that boy? Oh! _here_ you are. Wapi viatu?” (Where are my boots?) An interval of silence. El Hakim (_evidently getting angry, and alternating English with the vernacular_): “Ju-ma-a! Have you got those boots yet? Eh? Wapi viatu? Eh? Wewi sedui? (You don’t know?) What the dickens _do_ you know? Tafuta sana, maramoja!” (Search well at once!) (_A moment’s silence, broken by sounds of searching among kit-boxes, etc., followed by an indistinct murmur from the unhappy Juma._) El Hakim: “You can’t find them, eh? Now, I’ll tell you what I’m going to do with you! I’m going to give you a hiding! Wewi sikia? (Do you hear?) Wha—at! They’re under my bed, where I put them last night! Hum—m—m! Nenda Kuleta maaji! Oopace! (Go and get some water, quickly!) If you don’t do better than this in future you shall carry a load!”