“They’re as strong as horses, Dick,” panted Jack. “There! Now, you sirs, shake hands!”
“No!” shouted one.
“No!” shouted the other; and with a make believe of fierceness, Jack gave each what he called a topper on the head with one of the kiris he held.
“Now will you make friends?” cried Jack; and again they shouted, “No!”
“They won’t. Let them go,” said Dick, languidly; “and it makes one so hot and tired.”
“They shan’t go till they’ve made friends,” said Jack, setting his teeth; and thrusting his hand into his pocket he brought out a piece of thick string, the Zulu boys watching him intently.
They remained where Jack had placed them, and going down on one knee he seized the right hand of each, placed them together, and proceeded to tie them—pretty tightly too.
“There!” cried Jack. “Now you stop till you’re good friends once more.”
“Good boy now,” cried one on the instant.
“Good boy now,” cried the other.