“What is thy name?” I said to the aggrieved youth.
“Atyisayo.”
“Ha! Atyisayo! Meaning hot. Hot water,” I rejoined. “Well you have got into hot water, as the proverb runs among us whites—as we all do sooner or later especially when we are young. But we get out of it again, and so have you, and you must think no more about it,” I concluded.
“M-m! But he has not paid us anything. The Ingisi has sent us away without our hire.”
“He will give it you. He is hot tempered but not a cheat. You will have it. I myself will see to that. Hambani gahle.”
“Iqalaqala is our father,” they murmured, rising to leave. “Amakosi! Hlalani gahle!”
I watched their receding forms, and shook my head. Then I looked at Tyingoza.
“It is a pity,” I said. “Yes, a great pity. These people down there are good people—yes, even of the best of the land. It is only that they lack understanding, yet even that will come—with experience. I will go and talk again with them—yes—this very evening. Come with me, Tyingoza. Your words as a chief will carry much weight, and these people will treat you with consideration.”
He answered something about having to go home and see about some new cattle that were being sent in to him. Then with a waggish expression of countenance he said:
“Au! Iqalaqala. When are you going to build a new hut?”