"Son of a dog, dat fella!" replied John indignantly. "He want to know too much. Talk 'bout sah's father and mother, how many wives, what he come for, too much!"
"Did you tell him I want to buy food?"
"No, sah; I tell him——"
"Then do so at once," Royce interrupted sternly.
In a more subdued tone of voice, John gave his message. The man again withdrew.
After another interval, the gate was thrown open, and Royce, entering, found himself among a band of stalwart natives, carrying long, broad-bladed spears, and marked on each cheek, near the ear, with five or six narrow cuts, the badge of their tribe. Escorted by them, and watched by a curious crowd of townsfolk, Royce proceeded to the chief's large mud house in the centre of the town.
On entering he was greeted with the words: "Sanu, bature!" (Hail, white man!) from a stout, pleasant-faced, bearded black man, somewhat past middle age, who motioned to him to be seated, and ordered one of his slaves to bring forward a present of a roasted fowl.
The customary salutations passed between host and visitor. Royce had already learnt to endure this lengthy ceremony with patience. It was something like this:
John: "Hail, chief! Is it well with you?"
Chief: "It is well."