"Good day." It was a feeler.
"No savee."
Taking out a florin (the only silver coin I had), I said to him, whose smile was blandest, "You got it flour?" pointing to a small bag of it. "You bake it Johnny cake, so big," I drew a small circle on the ground and laid the two-shilling-piece within the circle.
The yellow man's smile broadened at sight of the white money. He knew something of English. He said, "Welly goo."
So, happy in the certainty of having fresh baked bread for supper, I, leaving them, proceeded to make my primitive wash-basin preparations, and had a bath.
Before sundown, the Chinamen had shot a great number of the ducks with which the surface of the waterhole (in common with most of the others along the track, by the way) was swarming. And one of them, at supper time, came over and presented me with an only three-parts empty tin of jam—a small tin. May he have escaped both niggers and imprisonment?
* * * *
Often o' nights, as here at this romantic camping place, there came to me the clear realization of what would be the consequence of a disabling accident.
There were no means that I could see of getting out from places in this country for months if my machine smashed up. I was a nobody—had neither wealth nor influence at my back, and would be powerless to do anything or get people to do anything for me.