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the transportation to Chunga camp for the KT/3 safari?”
    “What a lovely man,” murmured Mrs. Lovecraft appreciatively.
    “Yes, yes,” said Homer. “You are—?”
    “John Steeves.” He was dressed very casually in a heavy turtleneck sweater and shabby twill slacks; he looked, thought Mrs. Pollifax, like a man who would know that African mornings were cold. He looked seasoned.His voice marked him as an Englishman, the patina on his boots marked him as a hiker. His face was long and intense, with a thick brown mustache and interesting dark eyes.
    Homer’s face lighted up at the name. “Of course—yes, I was inquiring for you. Have you luggage?”
    “A duffelbag, but Tom’s bringing it. He’s one of the party, too, we met in the Coffee Hut. Tom Henry.” He turned and gestured vaguely toward the hotel entrance. “There he is,” he said.
    Mrs. Pollifax turned and saw a solid-looking young man walk out of the hotel carrying a suitcase and a duffelbag, followed by a barefooted black boy carrying a second suitcase. Tom Henry looked cheerful and uncomplicated, with sandy hair and a pair of level, candid gray eyes. No nonsense about him, thought Mrs. Pollifax, liking him at once; relaxed, stable and efficient. The boy walking beside him suddenly looked up at him and smiled. It was, thought Mrs. Pollifax, the most adoring glance that she’d ever seen a child give an adult, and she realized that the two belonged together.
    “Henry?” said Homer, puzzled, and then, “Ah, this is
Doctor
Henry? Dr. Henry from the mission hospital?”
    “And Chanda,” the young man said firmly. “Chanda Henry.”
    The three men and the boy moved to the back of the bus to stow away their luggage, and Mrs. Lovecraft climbed in beside Mr. Kleiber, saying, “Isn’t this fun?”
    Glancing toward the hotel Mrs. Pollifax saw Cyrus Reed walk out, looking vaguely concerned. He had exchanged his seersucker suit for a pair of new bluejeans that made his legs look very long indeed, and over thishe wore a shirt and a shabby jacket. After noticing the bus he came toward it, and looking extraordinarily pleased at seeing her in it, he leaned over and spoke to her through the window.
    “She’s five hours late now,” he said. “Difficulties mount.”
    At that moment a small red Fiat raced into the drive of the hotel and came to a sudden stop, its tires protesting shrilly. A voice called, “Dad!” and a young woman as petite as Reed was enormous jumped out of the car and waved. “I’m here, Judge!”
    “That,” said Cyrus Reed resignedly, “is Lisa.”
    “Judge?” asked Mrs. Pollifax.
    “Retired.”
    She turned to look again at the young woman who was now opening the door of the car. She was slim and long-legged and difficult to overlook because her hair was bright auburn, the color of a new penny, and her face was round and pixie-like, with a dimple in the chin. Mrs. Pollifax said, “She doesn’t look at all cold and businesslike.”
    “She doesn’t, does she,” said Reed. He looked surprised. “Something’s different. Like you to meet her. I’ll bring her back.”
    Mrs. Pollifax watched as Lisa spoke to someone inside the car, and then from its confining interior crept a woman with a baby in a sling over her shoulders, followed by a small black man in a business suit and spectacles, three grinning barefooted boys, a bent old man carrying a crutch, and at last a young man in purple slacks and pink shirt. It was rather like that old circus act, thought Mrs. Pollifax, where dozens of people kept emerging from atiny car, and she wondered how on earth they had all fitted inside. Lisa shook hands with each of them and then allowed herself to be led off to the minibus by her father.
    “…  a flat tire,” she was saying, “but Kanyama helped me change it and Mbulo was carrying firewood when I picked him up, so we had a jolly fire by the side of the road and cooked a breakfast. Really neat—and you should have seen the