“Now you’re initiated, dear,” said Verna merrily, “once you’ve learnt to drink tywala.”
“I call this uncommonly jolly,” pronounced Denham, looking around. “These chaps must have a good time of it.”
The domed huts within their ring fences shone yellow and picturesque in the sunlight. A few men were seated in groups chatting in a bass undertone, and the red top-knots of women showed above the thorn fence, gazing curiously at the visitors.
“Sapazani would tell you ‘must have had a good time of it,’” said Ben Halse. “He’s a man of the past.”
“Discontented?”
“Rather.”
“Tell him I want to give him this, Halse,” producing the binoculars. “To remember my visit by.”
Sapazani received the gift in the same dignified fashion, and they instructed him how to find the focus. He tried it on various objects and then handed it to an attendant.
“It is good,” he said. “I will remember.”
But to the proposal to snapshot him he returned a decided negative, polite but firm. Denham was disappointed.