"Shup," he said, to Mrs. Jakes. "Says I can shup—for the present. Supposin' I don't shup, though."
He drank, with a manner of confirming by that action a portentous resolution, and sat for some minutes grave and meditative, with his bitter, thin mouth sucked in. He never laid down the big revolver which he held. Its short, businesslike barrel rested on the blue cloth of his knee, and the blued metal reflected the light dully from its surfaces.
"Is it dangerous?" Ford was asking. "From what I can tell you, do you think there 's any real danger? She looks—she looks deadly."
"Yes, she would," replied the Kafir thoughtfully. "I think I 've got an idea how things stand. As long as that unconsciousness lasts, there 'll be no more hemorrhage, and there 's the ergotin too. If there 's nothing else, I don't see that it should be serious—more serious, that is, than hemorrhages always are."
"You really think so?" asked Ford. "I wish you could see her for yourself, and make certain. Perhaps presently that swine with the revolver will be drunk enough to go to sleep or something, and we might manage it."
The Kafir shook his head.
"If it were necessary, the revolver wouldn't stop me," he said. "But as it is—"
"What?"
"Oh, do you think it would make things better for Miss Harding if you took me into her bedroom? You see what has happened already, because she has spoken to me from time to time. How would this sound, when it was dished up for circulation in the dorps?"
Ford frowned unhappily. He did not want to meet the mournful eyes in the black face.