“It is tough, Joe. But don’t give up hope yet. Why, even C. C. goes ahead of you these days. He’s jolly.” “I know he is, and I mustn’t give way to my fears,” went on Joe. “I won’t--that’s all! Now let’s enjoy this view.” They were sailing over one of the largest lakes of Africa. Their baggage had been put away, and the native porters, in their section of the craft, were devoting themselves to their pastimes. Mr. Duncan kept rather to himself, or talked with the sergeant, and the boys and Mr. Piper walked about, looking sometimes at the Africans at their simple games, at the engines of the boat, or gazing across the stretch of waters. “There doesn’t seem to be much chance for pictures here,” remarked Joe, when they had been traveling for a day or two. “I wish we could film something.” He and his chum had a chance not long after that, when the steamer put in at a small port to leave some goods for an Englishman who had started an ostrich ranch there. It was in rather a lonely spot. There was no dock for the steamer, and the goods had to be taken ashore in small boats. “This is going to take some time,” said Mr. Hotchkiss, after a talk with the captain, “and, if you boys want to go ashore, you are at liberty to borrow a boat. You may see something worth filming, as you call it.” “I wonder if we could get a rhino?” asked Joe. “I don’t believe you’ll find any in this locality,” answered the former soldier; “but, of course, Africa is a strange place. You may stir up game when you least expect it.” “Let’s try,” suggested Joe, and his chum agreed. “I’ll go along, and see if I can get a shot at anything,” said C. C. “You may need my services.” They were soon rowing toward shore in one of the small boats of the steamer, with the moving picture camera in the bow ready for instant use. They soon found where a small stream, flowing into the lake, gave them a chance to get off the main body of water. “Let’s try that,” suggested Joe. “It’s too open here to get anything. Let’s go where it’s wilder.” “It’s wild enough here!” exclaimed Blake, a little later, when they were rowing along, hardly able to move from the number of lily pads on the surface of the stream. The lilies themselves, great yellow and white blossoms, were all about, amid the broad green leaves, on top of which stepped peculiar birds, with long claws, seemingly made for traveling on the pads. The edges of the stream were lost in a mass of tall papyrus, the plants from which the ancients made paper. “Yes, it is wild,” agreed Joe, “but I don’t see anything to make pictures of, and----” But he did not finish. He was interrupted by a sort of coughing groan just ahead of them. There was a stir among the lily pads. The water swirled, and up from it heaved a black, bulky body. “What’s that?” cried Blake, in some alarm. “A hippopotamus!” cried Joe. “Hurray! Something to film at last! Row us toward it, if you don’t mind, C. C.”