"P.S.--I suppose you haven't seen anything of those young Brownes? I'd be a deal happier if I knew you had neighbours."
A week later came a brief note.
"Fate's got a downer on me. I was fool enough to go for a ride in the widow's new 40 h.-p. Panhard. The chauffeur ran us into a dyke; the rest got bruises, but I survive with a broken leg. Tony Weller was right: beware of widders."
Since then no news had come, and John grew anxious, though he reflected that he would have heard if his father was seriously ill.
[CHAPTER THE EIGHTH--Hard Pressed]
John spent a good deal of time with Bill the Wanderobbo. He found it at first difficult to communicate with him, for the little man knew no English, nor even Swahili, which John was rapidly picking up, partly from Coja, and partly from a Swahili grammar and Bible which he had brought from Mombasa. He had to employ Wasama as the medium of intercourse with Bill, the two men speaking in the Masai tongue, and Wasama translating either into his imperfect English, or into Swahili, as John became more proficient in it. Coja told him that the Wanderobbo have a language of their own, and he tried to get Bill to teach him that; but the man became reserved and shy whenever the suggestion was made, and Wasama explained that the Wanderobbo never allowed any foreigner to hear them speak in their own tongue. After a time John managed to converse with Bill about simple matters in a kind of sign language, in which the Wanderobbo was very quick. He learnt long afterwards that the mysterious language of the tribe largely consists of signs, to such an extent that the people cannot understand one another in the dark.
One day Bill darkly hinted that though John was very rich, yet he, the Wanderobbo, was richer. This was surprising, seeing that to all appearance he possessed nothing but his hut and weapons. On being questioned he at first shyly refused to say more, but by and by said that he owned a very large store of ivory.