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"Hum, looks like Jube no, that first letter's a 'K' I guess," and Mr. Wilson turned it upside down, thinking that would help. "I made it out a 'G'," said Tom. "So it is. A 'G' you're right. Gumbo Twamba that's what it is Gumba Twamba. I can make it out now all right." "Well, where, for the love of my old geography, is Gumba Twamba?" asked the lad with a laugh. "You've got me, Tom.
Several weeks were spent in this way, meanwhile the mails being anxiously watched for news from Africa. "Here you are, Tom!" called the postman one morning, as he walked out to the shop where the young inventor was busy over the balloon. "Here's another letter from that Buggy-wuggy place." "Oh, you mean Gumba Twamba, in Africa!" laughed the lad. "Good! That's what I've been waiting for.
Illingway tells of a wonderful golden image that is worshiped by a tribe of Africans in a settlement not far from Gumba Twamba, where he is stationed. It's an image of solid gold " "Solid gold!" interrupted Mr. Swift. "Yes, dad, and about three feet high," went on Tom, referring to the letter to make sure. "It's heavy, too, no hollows in it, and these Africans regard it as a god.
Passing it we continue ascending between banks, on which villages are practically continuous the whole way until we reach Gumba, a large village on the French side with a hospitable Chief and a mud guest house. In this we store the baggage and arrange to sleep on the verandah which has fortunately a water-tight, roof for the almost daily tornado happened to be of an unusually violent description.
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