“I have nothing to do with Tom and Mr. Rick. All I know is I have heard them both refuse.”
“No, I suppose you have nothing to do with them. Then you are just afraid of your life.”
“Come now,” I cried, being perhaps a little stung, “you know in your heart I am asking a reasonable thing. I don’t ask you to lose your profit—though I would prefer to see no spirits brought here, as you would——”
“I don’t say I wouldn’t. I didn’t begin this,” he interjected.
“No, I don’t suppose you did,” said I. “And I don’t ask you to lose; I ask you to give me your word, man to man, that you will make no native drunk.”
Up to now Mr. Muller had maintained an attitude very trying to my temper; but he had maintained it with difficulty, his sentiment being all upon my side; and here he changed ground for the worse. “It isn’t me that sells,” said he.
“No, it’s that nigger,” I agreed. “But he’s yours to buy and sell; you have your hand on the nape of his neck; and I ask you—I have my wife here—to use the authority you have.”
He hastily returned to his old word. “I don’t deny I could if I wanted,” said he. “But there’s no danger, the natives are all quiet. You’re just afraid of your life.”
I do not like to be called a coward, even by implication; and here I lost my temper and propounded an untimely ultimatum. “You had better put it plain,” I cried. “Do you mean to refuse me what I ask?”
“I don’t want either to refuse it or grant it,” he replied.