As I persevered in my geographical lecture he gradually became detached from my point of view, and when we finished I was talking equator and he was talking about a friend of his who had once been to Rotterdam.
The lecture was a "draw." But I noticed with satisfaction that when we walked across the bridge he looked furtively between each crack as if expecting to see something.
It was rather a curious thing, speaking of Hassan, to observe the respect with which the other natives treated his daily religious devotions.

He was the only one in camp who prayed--at least openly--and as he knelt and bowed and went through the customary form of a Mohammedan prayer there was never the slightest disposition to make fun of him.

In a camp of one hundred white men I feel sure that one of them who prayed aloud three times a day would hardly have escaped a good deal of irreverent ridicule from those about him.

The natives in our camp never dreamed of questioning Hassan's right to worship in any way he pleased and the life and activities of the camp flowed along smoothly as if unconscious of the white-robed figure whose voice sang out his praises of Allah.

The whole camp seemed to have a deep respect for Hassan.
Abdi, our head-man, was also a Somali, but of a different tribe.