So I went on to the circle, and as I advanced Umbezi rose and, taking me by the hand, led me to the big man, saying:
“This is Masapo, chief of the Amansomi, of the Quabe race, who desires to know you, Macumazahn.”
“Very kind of him, I am sure,” I replied coolly, as I threw my eye over Masapo. He was, as I have said, a big man, and of about fifty years of age, for his hair was tinged with grey. To be frank, I took a great dislike to him at once, for there was something in his strong, coarse face, and his air of insolent pride, which repelled me. Then I was silent, since among the Zulus, when two strangers of more or less equal rank meet, he who speaks first acknowledges inferiority to the other. Therefore I stood and contemplated this new suitor of Mameena, waiting on events.
Masapo also contemplated me, then made some remark to one of his attendants, that I did not catch, which caused the fellow to laugh.
“He has heard that you are an ipisi” (a great hunter), broke in Umbezi, who evidently felt that the situation was growing strained, and that it was necessary to say something.
“Has he?” I answered. “Then he is more fortunate than I am, for I have never heard of him or what he is.” This, I am sorry to say, was a fib, for it will be remembered that Mameena had mentioned him in the hut as one of her suitors, but among natives one must keep up one’s dignity somehow. “Friend Umbezi,” I went on, “I have come to bid you farewell, as I am about to trek for Durban.”
At this juncture Masapo stretched out his great hand to me, but without rising, and said:
“Siyakubona [that is, good-day], White Man.”
“Siyakubona, Black Man,” I answered, just touching his fingers, while Mameena, who had come up again with her beer, and was facing me, made a little grimace and tittered.
Now I turned on my heel to go, whereon Masapo said in a coarse, growling voice: