"Oh, nothing that you can give," was the retort.
"Well—but you must have something," urged Christian. "You—you have saved my wife."
"And you haven't even said 'thank you,'" replied the Kafir.
"I threw you the money," protested Christian. "It is a hundred pounds. But—well—you have been good and I thank you."
The Kafir laughed. He knew the mere words created an epoch, for Boers do not thank Kafirs. They pay them, but no more. Strange how a matter of darkness abrogates a difference of color. It would never have happened in the daytime.
"You 're satisfied, then?" he inquired.
"Me?" The Boer was puzzled. "You will take the money now?"
"No, thanks. I 'm too—oh, much too tired and hungry to carry it. You see, I brought your wife a long way."
"Yes," said Christian. "She said so—a very long way. I will wake the boys [the Kafirs of the household]. They will find you a place to sleep and I will make them bring you some food."
"No, thanks," said the Kafir again. "I don't speak their language. You—you haven't a man who speaks English, I suppose?"