"Dan Sahib has still to learn what sorrow is. He will learn that lesson soon. That much I see."
"What does he mean, Dick?" asked Dan nervously.
But the Mahatma had put away the crystal, wrapping it carefully in the black cloth.
"There you've done it," scolded Dick. "We might have learned something that would help us. Instead of that, you insult him, and it's all off!"
At that moment the chief of the Kungora tribe approached and with much bowing announced that food was to be brought. The Mahatma retired to a sheltered spot to eat alone and in meditation. Dan and Dick sat down with the warriors.
"This is what I call service!" said Dan as a black boy spread large leaves in front of him and deposited there a large roasted spurfowl. There were large steaks of gazelle meat, wild apricots and a kind of bread which the Mahatma had taught the natives to make, as he did not eat flesh but lived on grains and fruit.
Hungrily the warriors set to on the meal, pulling the birds apart with their fingers and devouring the bits in large mouthfuls.
"You would have made a good savage, Dan!" said Dick with a laugh, as he watched his chum.
"I wouldn't mind belonging to this tribe," Dan retorted. "If they can cook like this, I'm strong for them!"
But finally even Dan had to cry enough, for one course after another was being served and it seemed as if the feasting might go on for days. The Kungoras still sat in a semicircle about the visitors and later Dick learned from the Mahatma that this was a sign of friendship.