The German shrugged.
"Black is black, and business are business. Kindness all fery goot, courage equally all fery goot, but you should hafe--vat you call tact."
"Tact! Tuts! An ounce of common-sense to begin with," broke in another voice. "Where did you get that fool of a hat? Come along, come along."
Tom felt a firm hand on his sleeve, and, too much surprised to resist, he allowed himself to be dragged along by the new-comer, who did not stop till they reached the water's edge. There he stooped down and plucked a couple of large green leaves from a strange plant, and a moment later Tom found them flapping about his ears beneath his hat.
"There, now you'll do," said his captor. "The idea of coming out and practising boxing under an African sun in a three-and-sixpenny straw hat! Sure an' if I hadn't met you you would have been food for jackals in twelve hours. Thank your stars you were taken in hand by Dr. Corney O'Brien. And now, who are you?"
The little man with the keen gray eyes and pleasant mouth looked up at Tom and frowned.
"A Burnaby, by the powers! And I never knew the major had a family. Ah, but you're a Burnaby, plain enough, whatever they christened ye--Tom, Dick, or Harry!"
"Right first shot, Doctor," said Tom with a smile. "I'm Tom Burnaby, at your service. Will you be good enough to direct me to my uncle's bungalow?"
"Will I? Indeed I will. Come along."
Talking all the time, the little doctor led Tom in the direction of Port Florence. A few minutes' walking brought them to the major's bungalow, a one-story building of wood, raised a few inches from the ground, with a neatly-thatched roof overhanging a sort of veranda. Tom was soon stretching his legs luxuriously in one of his uncle's comfortable chairs, and scanning the walls hung with small-arms, hunting trophies, and a few choice engravings.