“What!” cried West. “Why, this is worth twice as much.”
“No, no,” cried the man angrily. “Want to cheat poor black Kaffir. No, no; Olebo want to help white baas! White baas want cheat poor black Zulu!”
“Poor old chap!” said Ingleborough, laughing merrily; “his education has been sadly neglected. Here, Jack—Olebo, or whatever your name is—take the sovereign, and you shall have the five two-shillings pieces as well.”
“Eh? No cheat Zulu boy?” cried the man doubtingly.
“No, all right; catch hold. There, now you can buy many blankets, and may you never be tricked any worse!”
“Hah! Yes; buy lot, take home!” And the white teeth were shown again as the coins were gripped fast, including the sovereign, which was held up first to the light. “White shilling? No: yellow farden.”
“All right; but take it to an honest man, my lad. Now then, untie those reins.”
The black turned to obey, but stopped short and stood staring away through the open side of the shed for a few moments, with the light shining full upon his face, showing his starting eyes, open mouth, and dilated quivering nostrils.
“What’s the matter? Can he hear a lion?” whispered West.
“Here, stop, stop!” cried Ingleborough. “Finish your job!—We’ve paid him too well and too soon. He’s off to run amok among the brandy and blanket dealers.”