Although he could neither read nor write he yet kept accurate enough accounts of all his many transactions with the natives. He once showed me his accounts. They consisted of notches on tally sticks. I couldn't make head or tail of them, but Schiller knew to a shilling how much each ox had cost him and how many cattle he had.
One Sunday morning he came over to my bungalow and told me all the gossip of the country-side. Incidentally he remarked that my hair wanted cutting, and asked if he might have the pleasure of operating.
I thanked him and sat down.
To my amazement he produced from a little black bag all the implements of the trade, including a pink print sheet which he proceeded to tuck in round my neck.
His touch was unmistakable.
"Yes, sir, from —— of Bond Street."
From that day on, twice a month if I was at home, this man who was worth at least twenty thousand pounds cut my hair for sixpence.
He called himself the "Cattle King."
I first met him when he made application for a cattle trading licence at my office: this was many years ago.