The last remark was addressed at large as he changed his mind with marvellous alacrity, and, wheeling round, was endeavouring to hang the bandolier to the wall upon a pin that would hardly have held a Christmas card, as though his life depended upon it. For there had suddenly entered behind them one of the small Mashuna boys who did the house and other work—had entered silently withal, the sooty little rascal; and now his goggle eyes were starting from their sockets with curiosity as he went about doing whatever he had to do, sending furtive and interested glances at these two, whom he had surprised in such unwonted proximity.
“See, now, where your impulsiveness comes in,” said Hermia, when the interrupter had gone out.
“Is that the name of that small black nigger?” said Justin Spence, innocently. “I always thought he was yours.”
“Don’t be foolish, dear. It’s a serious matter.”
“Pooh! Only a small black nigger. A thing that isn’t more than half human.”
“Even a small black nigger owns a tongue, and is quite human enough to know how to wag it,” she reminded him.
“I’ll cut it out for the young dog if he does,” was the ferocious rejoinder.
“Excellent, as a figure of speech, my dear Justin. Only, unfortunately, in real life, even in Mashunaland, it can’t be done.”
“Well, shall I give him a scare over it?”
“You can’t, Justin. In the first place, you could hardly make him understand. In the second, even if you could, you would probably make matters worse. Leave it alone.”