“All right, ole chap,” boomed the voice of Ali, who suddenly appeared beside him. “I looking after Bwana. Master going back along shippy? I fetch trolley now and see Bwana at Kilindini, thank you, please sah, good God,” and he disappeared in the direction of the town, returning a couple of minutes later with the trolley.
“Master not pay these dam’ thieves too much, ole chap,” he remarked. “Two journey and one hour wait, they ask five rupees. Master give two-an’-a-puck.”
“How much is a ‘puck’?” enquired Bertram, ever anxious to learn.
“Sah?” returned the puzzled Ali.
“What’s a puck?” repeated Bertram, and a smile of bright intelligence engulfed the countenance of the big Swahili.
“Oh, yessah!” he rumbled. “Give two rupee and what Bwana call ‘puck-in-the-neck.’ All the same, biff-on-the-napper, dig-in-the-ribs, smack-in-the-eye, kick-up-the—”
“Oh, yes, I see,” interrupted Bertram, smiling—but at the back of his amusement was the sad realisation that he was not of the class of bwanas who can gracefully, firmly and finally present two-and-a-puck to extortionate and importunate trolley-boys.
He stepped on to the trolley and sat down, as Ali, saluting and salaaming respectfully, again bade him be of good cheer and high heart, as he would see him at Kilindini.
“How will you get there? Would you like to ride?” asked the kind-hearted and considerate Bertram (far too kind-hearted and considerate for the successful handling of black or brown subordinates and inferiors).
“Oh, God, sah, no, please,” replied the smiling Ali. “This Swahili slave cannot sit with Bwana, and cannot run with damn low trolley-boys. Can running by self though like gentleman, thank you, please,” and as the trolley started, added: “So long, ole chap. See Master at Kilindini by running like hell. Ta-ta by damn!” When the trolley had disappeared round a bend of the road, he generously kilted up his flowing night-dress and started off at the long loping trot which the African can maintain over incredible distances.