“I’ve seldom seen a better-mannered gentleman,” said Wally, stepping back. “See if he’ll be as civil to you, Jim.”
He was, and the smile broadened, though apparently he had no speech—as Wally said, his grin made him independent of words. Jim produced a penny and put it into the tiny paw that matched it in colour. Then the door behind opened suddenly, and a Kaffir lady, evidently the baby’s mother, and clad in a nightgown strongly resembling his, appeared in search of her family—and at sight of the two boys, uttered a refined shriek and disappeared as quickly as she had come. The baby, regarding this performance as a circus, laughed very heartily; and Jim and Wally fled.
In the business part of Durban itself there was even less sign of life than among the cottages they had left. The shop-fronts were closely shuttered, and everywhere there was silence. Once, down a side-street, they caught sight of a native policeman, trim and smart in his dark blue, close-fitting uniform, his shapely brown legs bare from his knickerbockers, and a jaunty blue cap on one side of his close-cropped curly head; but he did not see them, and they went on. Jim paused for a moment.
“We might ask that fellow where the market is,” he said. “What do you think?”
“Oh, he’s rather out of our way, isn’t he?” Wally answered, easily. “And policemen have such a knack of moving off when you go after them; and you have to chase them for blocks. We’re sure to come across somebody soon.” To which Jim acquiesced; and thereby lost a chance of saving a good deal of trouble.
It was not an interesting city. The streets were dusty and untidy, and in the gutters was a litter of rubbish that spoke eloquently of Saturday night shopping. As they drew further and further away from the business centre there were signs of more foreign occupation—queer inscriptions in divers languages over the doorways of shuttered shops, and occasional glimpses of Oriental wares in dingy windows belonging to shops that did not rise to the dignity of shutters. Sometimes they had a brief vision of curious eyes regarding them from behind half-drawn curtains. They met an old Kaffir slinking along the gutter in search of some unsavoury booty, and questioned him about the market; but either he knew no English, or did not wish to understand them, for he only blinked and uttered guttural and unintelligible words, holding out a knotted old hand for money. The boys gave him some coppers and strolled on.
“Well, Durban takes some beating, for laziness, if not for religious fervour,” Jim said, at length. “I never saw a place more painfully quiet—there may be a mixture of races, but they all observe the Sabbath so far as sleeping goes. We’ll have to give it up and turn back, pretty soon, since apparently we shall have to walk all the way home; trams and rickshaws are as sound asleep as the inhabitants.”
“There’s a chap who may know something,” said Wally, quickly.
They had turned into a narrow street, and a rickshaw was coming slowly along towards them, drawn by a big Zulu. It was a shabby rickshaw, and the Zulu himself bore none of the adornments of his brethren in more fashionable regions; he wore ordinary knickerbockers and a blue jumper, and a single black feather was stuck through his tight curls.
“What a dingy-looking beggar!” Jim said. “He looks as if he’s been up all night.”