Mango was a Zanzibar boy and always at variance with the Mashonas. Maurice’s servant, Sixpence, a shrewd-looking fellow of about seventeen, was squatting on his haunches opposite the door, fiercely and monotonously demanding soap; some clothes lay beside him on the ground. He must go to the river and wash, he announced. But Mango replied that all the washing was done the day before yesterday, and declined to hand out soap. Coffee was backing up Sixpence, and telling him that as the master’s boy he had a right to ask for what he wanted, and get it. Makupi, who in spite of curses and blows was quite one of the domestic staff, though he never did any work, was turning over the soiled linen with his foot when I came up.
“But it is not washing day, Sixpence,” I objected. He arose quickly and gathered up the things he proposed to wash, muttering imprecations on Makupi for spreading them out. He rolled them hastily, but a little too late, into a ball. I had seen what he wanted to wash—a suit of pale blue pyjamas with fresh stains of blood all over them.
“The master told me I must go and wash to-day,” he repeated sullenly.
“Give him soap, Mango,” I said dully and walked away. It was no use looking for Snowie any longer!
For three days I did not speak to Maurice. I saw to his house and food, but I would not sit at meals with him, and I would not speak to him. He bore all with a cheerful air. I often heard him whistling. On the third day he wrote a note and sent it to my hut by Sixpence:
Would I be so extremely kind and condescending as to grace his table that evening? A rather important man from Salisbury was in, and coming to dinner. Of course I was full of imaginary grievances against him (the writer) but perhaps for the sake of appearances I would be so exceedingly gracious as to forget them for an hour or two. He had not the slightest objection to my going back to my sulks afterwards.—Mine effusively, Maurice Stair.
I arranged a good menu with Mango, decorated the table, and was ready to receive his guest. Dinner passed as smoothly and pleasantly as a deep river may glide over dark unthinkable things.
Just as the boys were putting the dessert upon the table I felt something against my skirt. I pushed back my chair and looked down. Snowie had come home.
With a cry I caught her up and put her on the table before me. The next cry came from the guest.