"Why not say Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, uncle?"
"A man of my girth!" said Mr. Martindale, chuckling. "But joking apart, Jack, this is a serious business. What am I to do with the boy, supposing he gets better? I am not a philanthropist; I can't start a boys' home; and the little chap will be of no use to us in our proper work. For the life of me I don't see daylight through this."
"We may find him useful in other ways, uncle. Besides, we may come across his people."
"And we may not—we may not, Jack. Still, have your way; only remember he's your protégé; I wash my hands of him. And mind you, I'm not going to start a crusade. There's been terrible work in this village: no mistake about it; but I'm not convinced it's the doing of white men: in fact, I refuse to believe it."
"But they're responsible. They shouldn't employ natives who are so blackguardly."
"That's where it is, you see. You Britishers employed Red Indians in our war of Independence, didn't you?"
"Yes, and Lord Chatham thundered against it, and it was put a stop to."
"They taught you history at Rugby, did they? Glad to hear it. Well, I dare say Leopold will put a stop to it if representations are made to him. It's none of my business, but I'll mention the matter when I get back to Boma. Now, Sambo——"
"Samba, uncle."
"Bo or ba, it's all the same. You'll have to be a good boy, Samba. But what's the good of talking! He can't understand what I say. Doesn't know good from bad, I warrant. Well, well!"