As a matter of fact this old man Moyo had been very troublesome in days gone by. He had refused to pay the annual tribute of honey, corn and skins, and had driven away the tax-gatherers sent to collect. Now, realising that he was getting on in years, he thought it wise to make his peace. No one ventured to remind the Chief of these things in view of the offering of two goodly tusks. Moyo was permitted to go to his home in peace; it was, however, plainly hinted to him that ivory would not save his skin if again he thought fit to defy the Chief's authority.
At length Bositi's turn came. "Who is this slave?" asked the Chief.
Someone spoke for him. "He comes with a small gift. He has been working for many years for the white man."
"Is this the fellow who has been making the white man's stemala?"
(By "stemala" the Chief meant railway, probably an attempt at the word "steamers.")
"Yes, Chief," said Bositi, "I have been making stemalas."
"Can you make good stemalas?"
"Yes, Chief, I can make them. I have been helping the white man to make them for many years."
"What does the white man use stemalas for?"
"To carry goods too heavy for a man to carry, and to travel distances more quickly and greater than a man can travel."