‘I can’t help it, baas, I am so schriking. When I am told to do anything, I do it.’
‘But what makes you do so?’
‘Baas, when I was a boy I one day fell asleep under a tree. When I awoke, a snake was partly coiled round my neck, and part of it was coiled on my breast; and when I saw and felt it, I schriked so I thought I should die. I jumped up and tore the snake from me, and ran away as fast as I could, until I was so tired I could run no more. After that, baas, if you only say snake to me, you can make me do whatever you like.’
‘Snake,’ called out Steve’s cousin at this moment.
‘Where? Where? Where?’ shouted Speelman, dancing and jumping about.
‘Stand on your head,’ shouted Keith. He hardly expected his order to be executed, and was surprised to see Speelman fall down and stand on his head, kicking his heels in the air, while he shouted, Slang, slang (snake, snake).
Steve now interposed, and said that they had had enough fun out of Speelman for once. They ought to let him rest now and take breath.
The rest of the evening was spent in yarning and storytelling generally, after which all went to bed.