I had expected to be stopped in the first bar, but, to my astonishment, as I proceeded, the grins of derision on the faces of my audience gave place to an expression of wondering admiration, and when I had let off the final yell and thumped out a brief postlude, I was overwhelmed with congratulations. The sherbet merchant ran off to fetch me a bowl of his muddy, sour beverage, and the barber dragged me on to his mat and commanded me to kneel. “Art thou going to shave me then?” I asked. “Shave thee!” he exclaimed. “I would shave a porcupine to hear a song like that thou hast sung.” He whisked off my cap, and set to work on my scalp with a clumsy little razor, but very skilfully and easily, while the crowd pressed round the mat until I was nearly suffocated. “Thou singest sweetly,” said the barber, as he mowed away, “and thy song was most tuneful, but I could not understand thy words. Was it a Moorish song?” “No,” said I, “it is a song that I heard a Christian sing when I was at Ogúa (Cape Coast).” “It is true,” broke in the Bornu. “I have been to Ogúa, and there I heard the _masu-bíndiga_ (soldiers) of the Christians play much fine music, and this song I heard also.” An earnest discussion on the white men and their customs followed, and was still going on when I arose with smooth and tingling head and chin, and, thanking the whimsical barber, made my escape. I was hurrying away when I felt someone pluck me by the sleeve, and, turning, found the dulcimer player at my elbow. “That was a good song of thine,” said he, “and right well sung. Dost thou know any more of the songs of the white people?” “Yes. I know a few,” I replied cautiously. “Then perhaps thou understandest their language?” said he. “I speak it a little,” I answered. “Why dost thou ask?” “Because,” he replied, “I and my brothers think of journeying to Ogúa. I have heard that the white people are rich and generous, and we think we might earn enough there to buy some of the Christians’ merchandise, and bring it back to our country. Now, if thou canst sing their songs and speak their language, we would be glad to have thee with us, and would share our earnings with thee if thou wouldst come.” This was an offer not to be lightly rejected, for it promised immediate subsistence and an escort and guides to the Coast, whither I desired to journey as quickly as I could. “It is a long journey,” said I. “I should like to think about it.” “Where dost thou stay?” asked the musician. “I have but just arrived,” I replied, “and have yet to find a place to sleep in.” “I stay with a countryman of mine, a man of Kong, and I doubt not he will let thee sleep in his house. Come, and I will take thee to him.” “I must first go to my wife, whom I left in the market,” said I. “Shall I come with thee?” he asked. “No,” I replied. “I will come back to thee anon.” “Very well,” said he, “I will wait for thee at the corner here by the mosque.”