“Have a glass of grog, Glanton, after your ride,” said the Major. “Well, and how’s trade?”
“So so. Much as usual. I’m thinking of a couple of months’ trip to the north of Zululand soon. I might pick up some good cattle in Hamu’s and Majendwa’s part, and Zulu oxen always find a good sale.”
“Into Zululand?” repeated Falkner, who had just entered. “By Jove, Glanton, I’d like to go with you. Wouldn’t I just.”
I hope I didn’t show that I wouldn’t like anything of the sort. I may have, for I was never a good actor, except in dealing with savages.
“That wouldn’t be impossible,” I answered. “But what about the farm?”
I read “Hang the farm!” as plain as possible in his face, though he hadn’t said it. What he did say was:
“Oh well. We might think out some plan so as to work it.”
“You must have had some very exciting adventures among the savages in your time, Mr Glanton,” said Mrs Sewin.
“The liveliest adventures I have ever had were among white men, and not among savages at all,” I answered. “But there, you must excuse me filling the rôle of the up-country yarner.”
“Mr Glanton is most provokingly and proverbially impossible to ‘draw,’ you know, mother,” said Miss Sewin, with a laugh and a shake of the head.