“What does he say, Mack?” asked Bob.
“He says that the Englishman must fix it, now that he has begun it.”
“I haven’t begun it, and I’m not an Englishman either,” exclaimed Frank.
“No matter. That’s what he and his friends say,” was Mack’s laughing response.
“Offer it to him again, and if he doesn’t take it knock him down with it,” suggested Eugene.
For a second or two it seemed as if Frank thought it would be a good plan to follow this advice. He was quite willing to undertake the task of repairing the weapon as an act of kindness, but his blood rose when he saw that an effort was being made to compel him to do so. The sight of the comical monkey-like face which the native turned upon him, however, was too much for his anger. It disappeared almost immediately, and breaking into a laugh Frank turned to the wagon to hunt up a file and screw-driver, followed by the Griquas, who watched all his movements with the keenest interest. Seating himself on the ground, he removed the lock, took out the tumbler, deepened the smoothly worn notch by a few passes of the file, and then put it back again just as it was before. The work was done in five minutes, and to show the native that it was well done, he took a cap from his own box, put it on the tube and pulled the trigger. The cap snapped, and the native with a grunt of satisfaction seized his gun and walked off, surrounded with his delighted friends. Frank put his hands into his pockets and stood looking after him. “You didn’t expect him to thank you, did you?” asked Uncle Dick.
“N-no, sir; but I didn’t expect him to grab the gun as though he thought I was going to steal it.”
“The next time you do a job of that kind throw in a kick, too,” said Eugene.
“The next time I won’t touch the gun in the first place,” replied Frank. “Hallo!”
He looked up just then and saw the surly farmer standing near the wagon enveloped in a cloud of smoke. Now and then the breeze would carry it away for an instant, and Frank could see that he was scowling fiercely.