Progress Below
'Como Point By Means Of Mere Paddling He Considered Impossible.
There Was Nothing For It But A Big Sailing Canoe, And There Was No
Big Sailing Canoe To Be Had.
I think Mr. Glass got a ray of comfort
out of the fact that Messrs.
John Holt's sub-agent was, equally with
himself, unable to ship me.
At this point in the affair there entered a highly dramatic figure.
He came on to the scene suddenly and with much uproar, in a way that
would have made his fortune in a transpontine drama. I shall always
regret I have not got that man's portrait, for I cannot do him
justice with ink. He dashed up on to the verandah, smote the frail
form of Mr. Glass between the shoulders, and flung his own massive
one into a chair. His name was Obanjo, but he liked it pronounced
Captain Johnson, and his profession was a bush and river trader on
his own account. Every movement of the man was theatrical, and he
used to look covertly at you every now and then to see if he had
produced his impression, which was evidently intended to be that of
a reckless, rollicking skipper. There was a Hallo-my-Hearty
atmosphere coming off him from the top of his hat to the soles of
his feet, like the scent off a flower; but it did not require a
genius in judging men to see that behind, and under this was a very
different sort of man, and if I should ever want to engage in a wild
and awful career up a West African river I shall start on it by
engaging Captain Johnson.
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