“Ah! Mynheer Schrader,” exclaimed Mack, cheerfully, “you have come out at last to look at my fine goods. Why didn’t you bring the frau along?”
“I wants nothing,” growled the Boer.
“Now, Mynheer Schrader,” said Mack, in his most winning tones, “when you see all the fine goods I have brought out here on purpose to—”
The Scotchman was as persistent as a book agent, but he had met his match in the obstinate Boer, who declared that he didn’t want anything, and neither would he look at anything. Mack might as well put his fine goods back into his wagon, and go his way, for not an ox could he buy of him. A long and animated conversation followed. As it was carried on in Dutch, the boys could not, of course, understand a single word of it, but they could easily see that the farmer was angry, and that he was taking Mack to task for something. Whether he had any advantage of their man, the boys could not quite decide. They rather thought not; for when Mack became fairly aroused he talked as fast as the others did, and slapped his hands and shouted so loudly that he might have been heard for half a mile. The Griquas listened intently, and did not hesitate to put in a word, and sometimes a good many of them, whenever an opportunity was offered. The boys thought they were taking sides with their champion. Finally, the debate was ended by the Dutchman, who, with an exclamation of disgust, turned on his heel, and walked away, smoking furiously.
“Well, Mack, what is the upshot of the whole matter?” asked Uncle Dick, as the driver lifted his hat from his head, and wiped away the perspiration into which he had been thrown by his exertions. “Will he trade?”
“No, sir, and neither will any of his people. They want to discourage traders from coming out here, for they sell too much ammunition to the natives.”
“And what did our visitors have to say?” asked Uncle Dick. “I noticed that they chimed in now and then.”
“Yes, sir. They assured me that we would stand a better chance if we should go straight to their own country, and let the Boers alone; and the Zulus say that there is ivory enough in their principal village to fill our wagon. But I wouldn’t go after it if I could get it for nothing. The Boer gave you particular fits,” added Mack, turning to Frank.
“Me! What have I done?”
“You mended that gun for Mr. Jones,” replied Mack; whereupon the boys and Uncle Dick broke out into a hearty peal of laughter. The idea of giving a civilized name and title to a creature like that was supremely ridiculous.