Just outside the courtyard of the stables a little barred window
had been cut through.
Near this were congregated a number of
Kikuyu savages wrapped in their blankets, receiving each in turn
a portion of cracked corn from a dusty white man behind the bars.
They were a solemn, unsmiling, strange type of savage, and they
performed all the manual work within the enclosure, squatting on
their heels and pulling methodically but slowly at the weeds,
digging with their pangas, carrying loads: to and fro, or
solemnly pushing a lawn mower, blankets wrapped shamelessly about
their necks. They were harried about by a red-faced beefy English
gardener with a marvellous vocabulary of several native languages
and a short hippo-hide whip. He talked himself absolutely purple
in the face without, as far as my observation went, penetrating
an inch below the surface. The Kikuyus went right on doing what
they were already doing in exactly the same manner. Probably the
purple Englishman was satisfied with that, but I am sure apoplexy
of either the heat or thundering variety has him by now.
Before the store building squatted another group of savages.
Perhaps in time one of the lot expected to buy something; or
possibly they just sat. Nobody but a storekeeper would ever have
time to find out. Such is the native way. The storekeeper in this
case was named John. Besides being storekeeper, he had charge of
the issuing of all the house supplies, and those for the white
men's mess; he must do all the worrying about the upper class
natives; he must occasionally kill a buck for the meat supply;
and he must be prepared to take out any stray tenderfeet that
happen along during McMillan's absence, and persuade them that
they are mighty hunters.
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