"My custom is the law," said Sanders. He dropped his voice till it was so soft as to be little above a whisper.
"Tobolaka," he said, "I hanged your father and, I believe, his father. Now I tell you this—that you shall play this king game just so long as it amuses your people, but you play it without soldiers. And if you gather an army for whatever purpose, I shall come and burn your city and send you the way of your ancestors, for there is but one king in this land, and I am his chief minister."
The face of the king twitched and his eyes fell.
"Lord," he said, using the conventional "Iwa" of his people, "I meant no harm. I desired only to do honour to my wife."
"You shall honour her best," said Sanders, "by honouring me."
"Cicero says——" began Tobolaka in English.
"Damn Cicero!" snapped Sanders in the same language.
He stayed the day, and Tobolaka did his best to make reparation for his discourtesy. Towards evening Sanders found himself listening to complaints. Tobolaka had his troubles.
"I called a palaver of all chiefs," he explained, "desiring to inaugurate a system analogous to county councils. Therefore I sent to the Akasava, the N'gombi, and the Ochori, their chiefs. Now, sir," said the injured Tobolaka, relapsing into English, "none of these discourteous fellows——"
"Speak in the language of the land, Tobolaka," said Sanders wearily.