“What! They accused me of keeping my promise?” said he. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t deny that charge either.”
“Did you really slaughter the natives?” cried Phyllis.
The interest which she felt appeared in her eyes.
“I did my best for the savages who had purchased my services,” he replied. “The campaign was not a protracted one. Two days after the outbreak of hostilities brought things to a climax. We fought our decisive battle—the Sedan of King Mubamayo. You see, I had a trustworthy Winchester. I believe that about seventy of the enemy bit the dust.”
“Only seventy? That was unworthy of you, Mr. Courtland,” cried Ella. “Nothing short of thousands counts as a civilized battle. Seventy! Oh, I’m afraid you don’t do yourself justice.”
“Of course a battle is a battle,” said Phyllis stoutly. “If you hadn’t killed them they would have killed you. You were in the right, I’m sure.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” said he, shaking his head. “To tell you the truth, the elements of the crisis of Headman Glowabyola were somewhat involved. The original dispute was difficult for a foreigner to understand—it was, in fact, the Schleswig-Holstein question of Kafalonga.”
“You settled it, anyway,” suggested Ella. “You were the Bismarck of what’s-its-name?”
“I doubled the parts of Bismarck and Von Moltke,” said he.
“And that’s why they worshiped you as their god? I don’t wonder at the heathen in his blindness doing that. Any man who was the same as Bismarck and Von Moltke would certainly shoulder a deity out of his way,” laughed Ella.