"Yes, yes. That's what it's for," cried Paul. "But—I never saw anything like that."
"Plenty of time," said the other. "And that's only one of the things to see. In London—"
"You 've been in London?" asked Paul quickly.
"Yes," said the Kafir, nodding. "Why?"
Paul was silent for a space of seconds. When he answered it was in a low voice.
"I 've seen nothing," he said. "I can't find out those ways to work the clay. But—but if somebody would just show me, just teach me those—those tricks you spoke about—"
"All right." The Kafir patted his arm. "Under the dam wall, eh? In the evenings? I 'll come, and then—"
"What?" said Paul eagerly, for he had broken off abruptly.
"The train," said the Kafir, pointing, and sighed.
Paul had been too intent in talk to hear it, but he could see now, floating against the distance, the bead of light which grew while he watched. The group further down the platform dissolved, and the tank-men went past at a run to their work. A voice at his elbow made Paul turn quickly. It was the Cape Mounted Policeman.