"At present," she persisted. "Wait till you meet."
"When we meet, I shall say, 'Sir, this very lovely and desirable young person here is my wife,' and then we shall go on to commercial topics. There's nothing romantic about the boss. If you'd studied the Epistles of K. to the Coasters as closely as I have, you'd know that off by heart."
Laura still shook her head. "I love you," she said, "more than anything else in life, and I can think of no greater happiness than to be your wife. But I would never marry you if I thought you could repent of it afterwards. You can't deny that you are wrapped up in K. You must see K. before you marry me, George."
"If K. comes along before the parson, well and good, you shall have your own way of it. But if a missionary of the right complexion (if there is such a thing down here) casts up at this factory, there'll be a wedding cake put on the festive board, Miss Slade, and you'll be the bride that'll cut it. Don't you try and wriggle out of your solemn promises with me. Hullo, what's that?"
"Thunder. Is the tornado coming again?"
"No, listen. It isn't thunder. It's people thumping monkey-skin drums. I've made dozens of those tuneful instruments for the curiosity dealers at home, so I know the note. Well, you get on with your dusting, there's a nice girl, and I'll go out and have a cigarette."
"You are going—to——"
"What, clean up the mess outside? No, we'll leave that for the present. Now, don't be scared, there's a sweetheart. But, to tell the truth, those drums interest me. The natives signal through the bush with them, you know, in a sort of dot-dash-dot style; and so far their local Morse alphabet has been a bit beyond me. Perhaps White-Man's-Trouble may be able to decipher it. Now, don't you try and shirk that dusting one moment longer."
He went out then onto the veranda, shutting the door behind him, and questioned the Krooboy sharply about the drummings. Did he understand them?
"Savvy plenty," said White-Man's-Trouble gloomily. "Dem Okky-man's drums."