Thomas made as though he would go away, but Menzi stopped him, saying:
“No, doubters must stay to see the end of their doubts. What shall I do? Ah! I have it.”
Then from one of the bags he drew out a number of crooked black sticks that looked like bent ebony rulers, and built them up criss-cross in a little pile upon the ground. Next he found some bundles of fine dried grass, which he thrust into the interstices between the sticks, as he did so bidding one of his servants to run to the nearest hut and bring a coal of fire upon a sherd.
“A match will not do,” he said. “White men have touched it.”
Presently the burning ember arrived, and muttering something, Menzi blew upon it as though to keep it alight.
“Now, White Teacher,” he said in a voice that had suddenly become commanding, “think of something. Think of what you will, and I will show it to you.”
“Indeed,” said Thomas with a smile. “I have thought of something; now make good your words.”
Menzi thrust the ember into the haylike fibres and blew. They caught and blazed up fiercely, making an extraordinarily large flame considering the small amount of the kindling. The ebony-like sticks also began to blaze. Menzi grew excited.
“My Spirit, come to me; my Spirit, come to me!” he cried. “O my Spirit, show this White Teacher Tombool that I am not a cheat!”
He ran round and round the fire; he leapt into the air, then suddenly shouted: “My Spirit has entered into me; my Snake is in my breast!”