“Our opposing interests are indeed a little perplexing,” said Jack, after some conversation had passed on the subject.—“No doubt, Mak, you and Mbango with his friends might reach the coast safely enough without us; but then what should we do without an interpreter?”
Our poor guide, whose troubles seemed as though they would never end, sighed deeply and glanced at his bride with a melancholy countenance as he replied—
“Me’ll go wid you, massa, an’ Okandaga’ll go to coast an’ wait dere for me come.”
“Ha!” ejaculated Peterkin, “that’s all very well, Mak, but you’ll do nothing of the sort. That plan won’t do, so we’ll have to try again.”
“I agree with you, Peterkin,” observed Jack. “That plan certainly will not do; but I cannot think of any other that will, so we must just exercise a little self-denial for once, give up all further attacks on the wild beasts of Africa, and accompany Mak to the coast.”
“Could we not manage a compromise?” said I.
“What be a cumprumoise?” asked Makarooroo, who had been glancing anxiously from one to the other as we conversed.
Peterkin laid hold of his chin, pursed up his mouth, and looked at me with a gleeful leer.
“There’s a chance for you, Ralph,” said he; “why don’t you explain?”
“Because it’s not easy to explain,” said I, considering the best way in which to convey the meaning of such a word.—“A compromise, Mak, is—is a bargain, a compact—at least so Johnson puts it—”