He drew up, and the natives stopped also, grinning from ear to ear. They were very dark, a dusky olive colour; the older ones were hideously ugly, and yet it was impossible not to be taken with the excessive good humour of their laughing faces.
“What name you?” cried the foremost to Mr Oliphant.
“Abraham,” was the reply.
“Ah, very good Abraham,” rejoined the native; “you give me copper, me call you gentleman.”
“Them you piccaninnies?” asked one of the women, pointing to Hubert and Frank.
“No,” said Mr Oliphant; “there—there are some coppers for you; you must do me some work for them when you come to my sit-down.”
“Gammon,” cried the black addressed; “me plenty lazy.”
“A sensible fellow,” cried Frank laughing, as they drove on; “he knows how to look after his own interests, clearly enough; surely such as these cannot be past teaching.”
“No indeed,” said the other; “we teach them evil fast enough; they learn our vices besides their own. You may be sure they drink when they can. Ah, that curse of drunkenness! Did you think you had run away from it when you left England? Happy for you, Hubert, that you’re an abstainer; and I suppose, Mr Oldfield, that you are one too.”
“Not a pledged one,” said Frank, colouring deeply, “but one in practice, I hope, nevertheless.”