So it was that Norah, standing disconsolately on the hotel verandah, saw a strange rickshaw-load approaching—and after a hurried glance, fled to meet it.
“Jim—are you much hurt?”
“I’m all right—Wally’s about done,” Jim said. “Pay this chap, Norah; we’re going in by the back way. You’d better come too, to lend an air of respectability.”
Norah ran beside the rickshaw, choking back further questions. In the back yard of the hotel she encountered the manager, and a brief word of explanation brought help from half a dozen quarters.
“That chap has done us a mighty good turn,” Jim said, indicating the Zulu. “Give him ten shillings—I promised him five. You tell dad—we’ve been in a scrimmage, but there’s no need to worry—none whatever.” A sudden giddiness came over him, and two waiters caught him swiftly and bore him off in Wally’s wake. Norah, half-sobbing, heard him feebly informing them that he was never better able to walk.
An hour later the boys held a reception in their room. Hot baths and strong soap had done wonders for them, and the doctor Mr. Linton had insisted on summoning had declared that they had sustained no serious damage. A few strips of sticking-plaster adorned them, and Jim’s blackened eyes lent him a curiously sinister aspect.
“I never thought bed could feel so good,” Wally declared.
“Bed is good,” said Jim, from across the room—“but bath was better. What did that Zulu who brought us home say to you, Norah?”
“He was too overcome by his half-sovereign to say much at all,” Norah answered. “And as it was mainly Zulu-talk, I didn’t gather a great deal of what he did say.” She twinkled. “I think he meant to assure me that you were a great chief—no matter how grubby you looked. And as he has done nothing ever since but parade up and down the road in front of the hotel, I believe he means to attach himself to us permanently.”
“Tell him, if you see him, that we’ll have him again to-morrow,” Jim said. “He’s a good chap.”