"Furthermore," we added crushingly, "you did not even hit the
rhinoceros!"
So with all ceremony he got the kiboko. The incident did him a
lot of good, and toned down his exuberance somewhat. Nevertheless
he still required a good deal of training, just as does a
promising bird dog in its first season. Generally his faults were
of over-eagerness. Indeed, once he got me thoroughly angry in
face of another rhinoceros by dancing just out of reach with the
heavy rifle, instead of sticking close to me where I could get at
him. I temporarily forgot the rhino, and advanced on Fundi with
the full intention of knocking his fool head off. Whereupon this
six feet something of most superb and insolent pride wilted down
to a small boy with his elbow before his face.
"Don't hit, bwana! Don't hit!" he begged.
The whole thing was so comical, especially with Memba Sasa
standing by virtuous and scornful, that I had hard work to keep
from laughing. Fortunately the rhinoceros behaved himself.
The proud moment of Fundi's life was when safari entered Nairobi
at the end of the first expedition. He had gone forth with a load
on his head, rags on his back, and his only glory was the
self-assumed one of the name he had taken-Fundi, the Expert. He
returned carrying a rifle, rigged from top to toe in new garments
and fancy accoutrements, followed by a toro, or small boy, he had
bought from some of the savage tribes to carry his blanket and
cooking pot for him.
