No, the chief had not seen the white man in the green coat, but a moon before he had seen one of the Wa-daki, who lived night and--
"Bother the Wa-daki! Just tell him that if he does see anything of the dago he is to say nothing about us. Does he understand? And none of his men is to say anything either. You'd better impress that on the katikiro too."
Mbutu having carried out his master's instructions in his own decorative way, Tom, with much ceremony, presented the chief with half a dozen yellow beads and a pocket handkerchief, dexterously avoided his greasy paw, and despatched Mbutu to find a place, away from the malodorous village, where they might comfortably pass the night.
Next morning they were up betimes. Tom was ravenously hungry, but did not feel happy at the thought of eating anything prepared in the village. He was surprised when Mbutu brought him an earthen pot filled with excellent tea, a slice of fried goat, and a few chapatties made, as he afterwards learnt, of banana-flour.
"Upon my word, Mbutu," he said, "I shall have to make you my katikiro right away."
Mbutu beamed his delight. Their breakfast finished, they went to find their canoe. It was already lying in the creek they had crossed on the previous evening. The crew were four muscular Baganda dressed in nothing but loin-cloths and grease, who all began to jabber at once as Tom approached.
"What do they say?" Tom asked.
"Say you fader and mudder, sah. All belong sah; huts belong sah; food belong sah; eberyfing belong sah."
"That's very kind of them, I'm sure. I wish they'd wash off that grease, though. What shall I say to them, Mbutu?"
"Me palaver man; me katikiro, sah."