HIS EXCELLENCY THE PRESIDENT 129

was out for a jaunt. Plump and sweaty and horribly
ingratiating, he managed to be the one who carried
the harp and not the empty hammock. He pointed
out everything which he considered of interest, he
hung around; but among the men he was the focus of
discontent; he always knew that a town was "too far",
I jould hear his fat grumble doing its work when-
ever a group gathered together to voice their com-
plaints, and a moment later there he would be, back
at my side, doing me a little service, oily and friendly
and proud of his English.

Kpangblamai was about four and a half hours'
march from Kolahun. It appeared quite unexpectedly
towards the end of the worst heat on the usual hill-
top, and there was Mark running dramatically down
to meet us at the stream. He had a school friend
with him, Peter, the chiefs son, and he said he had
"plenty plenty fine house" covered with pictures. So
it was: rectangular, like a small stable with two stalls
and a verandah. The stalls were bedrooms, contain-
ing native beds, platforms of beaten earth spread with
matting. The walls were papered thickly with old
advertisements and photographs out of illustrated
papers, most of them German or American. Over a
chair made out of an old packing-case was an article
by General Pershing on Youth; beautiful women
showed their teeth brushed with Chlorodone,
handsome men displayed their ready-made suitings,
somebody wondered why she wasn't a social success,
and a man in uniform denounced a clause of the
Treaty of Versailles. It was a really fine house, the
only one like it in the town; we didn't have another
lodging in a native town so good before Monrovia.