“By what route can he send letters if I close mine?”
“By a hundred ways, for there are as many. He first applied to you because he regarded you as a friend and not because necessity forced him to.”
“It is not possible that Emin would have thought of this if you had not made the suggestion. This plan for my disadvantage originated with you.”
“It is an honest man who is speaking to you. If I had been dishonest I would have overwhelmed you with compliments to secure your favor and attention.”
“Biri shall come in the morning.”
“Good! I thank you.”
Biri came and Emin awaited him with his steamer. His joy was great, for the supplies were urgently needed. He went back with a handsome quantity of ivory to be used in exchange and left hope in all hearts for the future. But things went far differently in Unjoro. The old minister Katagora, Emin’s stanch friend, died suddenly and, as was openly declared, by poison. On the morning of his death the king declared that from now on he would rule with the small and no longer be influenced by the great, and the dying minister suddenly heard at the door of the palace a crowd of boys shouting, “He’s dying now.”
It was only his inordinate eagerness for ivory and weapons that induced Kabrega’s apparent friendship. His hostile feelings began daily to reveal themselves. Merchants were strictly forbidden to sell their wares to Emin’s people. One Abu Bekr, who brought supplies for the government from Uganda, was set upon, robbed, and driven across the borders. The natives were forbidden to sell corn and other produce to Casati. The ivory sent to the king as compensation for allowing Biri’s caravan to pass through the country was sent back.
“The horns of my cows,” said Kabrega, who was very proud of his herds, to Casati, “are longer than the elephant tusks you have sent me. I don’t know what to do with them.”
“I am sorry,” replied Casati, “that the king disturbs our good relations upon such empty pretences. So far as the ivory is concerned, I will hold it subject to his orders.”