Arrived at Kilindini, Bertram paid the trolley-boys and discovered that, while they absorbed rupees with the greatest avidity, they looked askance at such fractions thereof as the eight-anna, four-anna, and two-anna piece, poking them over in their palms and finally tendering them back to him with many grunts and shakes of the head as he said:
“Well, you’ll have to take them, you silly asses,” to the uncomprehending coolies. “That lot makes a rupee—one half-a-rupee and two quarters, and that lot makes a rupee—four two-anna bits and two four-annas, doesn’t it?”
But the men waxed clamorous, and one of them threw his money on the ground with an impudent and offensive gesture. Bertram coloured hotly, and his fist clenched. He hesitated; ought he. . . . Smack! Thud! and the man rolled in the dust as Ali Sloper, alias Suleiman, sprang upon him, smote him again, and stood over him, pouring forth a terrific torrent of violent vituperation.
As the victim of his swift assault obediently picked up the rejected coins, he turned to Bertram.
“These dam’ niggers not knowing annas, sah,” he said, “only cents. This not like East Indiaman’s country. Hundred cents making one rupee here. All shopkeepers saying, ‘No damn good’ if master offering annas, please God, sah.”
“Well—I haven’t enough money with me, then—” began Bertram.
“I pay trolley-boys, sah,” interrupted Ali quickly, “and Master can paying me to-morrow—or on pay-day at end of mensem.”
“But, look here,” expostulated Bertram, as this new-found guide, philosopher and friend sent the apparently satisfied coolies about their business. “I might not see you to-morrow. You’d better come with me to the ship and—”
“Oh, sah, sah!” cried the seemingly hurt and offended Ali, “am I not Bwana’s faithful ole servant?” and turning from the subject as closed, said he would produce a boat to convey his cherished employer to his ship.
“Master bucking up like hell now, please,” he advised. “No boat allowed to move in harbour after six pip emma, sah, thank God, please.”