"Pick it up yourself," retorted the Kafir. "I don't want your money."
"Eh?" The Boer did not understand in the least. "It is for you," he repeated. "A hundred sovereigns, because you have been good, very good, to the Vrouw du Preez. It is in that bundle."
The Kafir turned on his heel. "Take care of your wife," he said shortly. "If you worry her now, she 'll be ill. Good night."
"Here," cried the Boer, as Kamis walked away. "Here, boy, wait. Come back."
Kamis halted. "I 've plenty of money," he answered. "I 'm not Boy Bailey, you know."
"Come here," called the Boer.
Kamis did not move, so he stepped down and went forward himself. The Kafir's last word stuck in his thought.
"No," he agreed. "But who are you? Man, why don't you take the money?"
"If I were a Boer, I should take it," answered Kamis. "I 'd pick it up from a dunghill, wouldn't I? But, then, you see, I 'm not a Boer. I 'm a Kafir."
"What do you want, then?" demanded Christian.