"Wait," he said, and walked quickly through the open door of his bungalow.
When he came out he carried a pliant whip of rhinoceros-hide, and the deputation, losing its serenity, fled precipitately.
Sanders watched the two canoes paddling frantically up stream, and the smile was without any considerable sign of amusement. That same night the Zaire left for the Akasava country, carrying a letter to the Reverend Kenneth McDolan, which was brief, but unmistakable in its tenor.
"Dear Sir,"—it ran—"You will accompany the bearer to headquarters, together with your belongings. In the event of your refusing to comply with this request, I have instructed my sergeant to arrest you. Yours faithfully,
"H. Sanders, Commissioner."
"And the reason I am sending you out of this country," said Sanders, "is because you have put funny ideas into the heads of my people."
"I assure you——" began the negro.
"I don't want your assurance," said Sanders, "you are not going to work an Indian Famine Fund in Central Africa."
"The people were starving——"
Sanders smiled.