Muriel made an effort, and, taking his horny hand in hers, told him that she hoped he would keep his health and that his affairs would prosper. With an eye on his cloak, she wanted to add that she hoped he would have good hunting, but she restrained herself.
Daniel translated the words into the native tongue, and, after a brief conversation, they took their departure.
As they walked down the lane Muriel asked him, freezingly, why he had so particularly wished her to make herself polite to the old man.
“I had no reason,” he answered, “except that I wanted you to think of him and not of yourself.”
“Why?” she asked with increasing ill-humor. “Am I usually selfish?”
“You have been trained to think first of yourself,” he answered, with disconcerting candour, “though by nature you are not really selfish at all. During this fortnight I want you to think mostly of other people.”
She had no time to reply before Daniel stopped at another and larger door, which he pushed open without a preliminary knock. Here, in a shed, two camels and a donkey stood feeding from a trough.
“This,” he told her, “is my hospital for sick animals. Both these camels have saddle-sores, as you see, and the old moke foaled the other day, but the youngster died. She is very depressed about it.”
Muriel was interested, and patted the donkey affectionately, while Daniel, stepping on to an inverted box, examined the camels’ sores.
“Just hand me that bottle over there,” he said. “It’s my patent mixture of carbolic and lamp-oil. It keeps the flies off, and heals up the sores mighty quick.”