Even as the other had said, he had made more than one attempt to sell that gun, but in vain. A Boer now and again would pick it up as it lay in Tasker’s auction room, and after eyeing it critically for a moment would replace it with a melancholy shake of the head. “A good roer” would be his verdict, his experienced eye taking in that much. “An excellent roer in its day, but its day is passed; we want breech-loaders now.” While some Briton of the baser sort, being a shop-boy or waggon-wright’s apprentice, with no experience whatever of firearms, would superciliously bid “five bob for the old gas-pipe.” Remembering all this, Roden stared; for now he began to see through this fellow’s drift.
“The Baas wanted to sell this gun,” continued the Kaffir, but nobody would offer anything for it. Now, why not sell it to him? No one would be any the wiser. It was night; no one had seen him come in. That was because he had come so late, and on a dark and rainy night.
“And what do you want to do with it, Tom, when you’ve got it?”
Au! It was not for himself. He was not in want of it. It was for his brother. He would give ten pounds for it, ten pounds down in hard cash.
“That settles the matter, then,” said Roden, decisively, intent on drawing him on. “If it’s for your brother, I won’t have any more to say. Two in an affair of this sort is one too many. But three; oh no! That deal won’t come off, Tom.”
The Kaffir looked profoundly disappointed, then muttered a little. Then he said, with a shamefaced laugh—
“It isn’t for my brother, Baas. That was not true. I want the gun myself. I will give twelve pounds for it. See, I have the money.”
He produced a tied-up rag, an exceedingly dirty and greasy rag, and shook it. The result was a clinking sound, the solid, metallic, comfortable clink of hard gold.
“I can’t sell it to you, Tom,” said Roden again, thinking the while how he only wished to the Lord he could.
“Look, Baas,” went on the Kaffir eagerly, his fingers quivering nervously in their hurry, as they struggled with the knots of the greasy rag. “Here is the money; I will give it all. I will give fifteen pounds for the gun; but I can offer no more, for I have no more. Here it is—all.”