"Washington—or John rather—is a Liberia boy I picked up five years ago. He's the best cook on earth! He's been in China and South America with me and whenever I don't need him he has a steady jo as fifth chef here. Ah, here he is!"
An immense black man appeared, wearing a grin that almost hid his face, as Burt expressed it. He stepped up and caught the explorer's hand, not shaking it but pressing it to his forehead as he spoke.
"Glad to see you, sar! What for you want John now?"
"Africa, John. This is my nephew, Mr. St. John, and my friend, Mr. Critchfield, who will go along. We leave for the Congo Tuesday."
"Pleased to meet you, sar!" The grinning black pressed the hands of Burt and Howard to his forehead in turn. "What boat we leave, sar?"
"The Benguela. African Steamship Company docks."
"Hit's Liverpool boat, sar! What time hit leave London docks?"
"Three o'clock, John. Here's a hundred pounds." Mr. Wallace peeled off five twenty-pound bank notes and handed them to the negro; "that ought to buy your outfit, eh?"
"By hall means, sar! Thank you. Hi'll 'ave most helegant brass pots, sar!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Burt as the cook withdrew. "You hand out bank notes as if you're made o' money! S'pose the coon'll ever show up with all that wad on him?"