“Well, I had to,” answered Gerard. “It was five to one. That’s not fair play, you know.” And his eyes met the blue ones of the young lady in the buggy, and were inclined to linger there, the more so that the said blue orbs seemed to beam an approval that was to the last degree heterodox in one of the tenderer sex and therefore, theoretically, an uncompromising opponent of deeds of violence.
“Who’s your long-legged friend?” went on the young man, proceeding to address a query or two to the Zulu, in the latter’s own language, but in a tone that struck even Gerard as a trifle peremptory. “He’s a surly dog, anyhow,” he continued, annoyed at the curtness of the man’s answer.
“He’s a Zulu—a real Zulu—and his name’s Sobuza,” said Gerard.
“A Zulu, is he? Do you know him, then?” was the surprised rejoinder.
“I didn’t before this morning. But I happen to have got him out of one little difficulty already to-day. I never expected to see him again, though.”
“The deuce you did! Was he engaged in the congenial pastime of head-breaking then, too?”
“N-no. The fact is—” And then Gerard blushed and stuttered, for he saw no way out of trumpeting his own achievements, and somehow there was something about those blue eyes that made him shrink instinctively from anything approaching this. “The truth is he got into difficulties in the river—a bit of string or something twisted round his legs in the water so that he couldn’t swim, and I helped him out.”
The girl’s face lighted up, and she seemed about to say something; but the other interrupted—
“By Jove, we must get on. It’ll be dark directly, and looks like a storm in the offing, and we’ve a good way to go. Well, ta-ta to you, sir. So long!” And the buggy spun away over the flat.
Gerard followed it with his glance until it was out of sight. Then he turned to the Zulu. That worthy was seated on the ground, calmly taking snuff.