htless retort. "For my
part--well--a nigger's a nigger, whether he's an induna or whether he
isn't, and he ought to be taught to respect white men. I wouldn't make
any difference whatever he was. An induna! Faugh! A dirty snuffy
nigger with a greasy black curtain ring stuck on top of his head. Pooh!
Fancy treating such a brute as that with respect!"

"All right, Inglefield. I don't in the least agree with you. Perhaps
when you've had a little experience you may be in a position to form an
opinion as to which of our lines is the most workable one."

"Oh, draw it mild, Ames," retorted the police officer, ill-humouredly.
"It doesn't follow that because a fellow can patter by the hour to a lot
of niggers that he knows everything. I say, old chap, why don't you
chip in for some of old Madula's daughters--marry 'em, don't you know?
He has some spanking fine ones, anyway."

The tone was ill-tempered and sneering to the last degree. Inglefield
could be bumptious and quarrelsome at times, but he had a poor life of
it, with a detestable wife, and an appointment of no great emolument,
nor holding out any particular prospect of advancement. All of which
bearing in mind, John Ames controlled his not unnatural resentment, and
answered equably:--

"Because I hope to make a better thing of life, Inglefield. But that
sort of thing is rather apt to stick to a man, and crop up just when
least convenient. I'm no prig or puritan, so putting it on that ground
alone, it's better not touched."

"Oh, all right, old chap; only don't be so beastly satirical. I can't
help grousing like the devil at times when I think how I'm stuck away
here in this infernal God-forsaken hole. Wish I could fall into a bunk
at Bulawayo or Salisbury or anywhere. Even Crosse here has a better
time of it going around sniffing out rinderpest."

"Don't know about that," said the cattle inspector. "I'll swap you
bunks, anyway, Inglefield."

"Wish we could, that's all," replied the police officer, who was in a
decidedly "grousy" vein, as he owned himself, half petulantly, half
laughingly, when presently the conical huts of Sikumbutana hove in sight
over the brow of the rise. "Well, now, Ames, you'll roll up to `skoff'
at seven, won't you, unless you'll change your mind and come in now?"

"I'll roll up all right. But not now, I've got some work on hand, and
it's early yet."

"Very well. Seven, then. Don't go sending over some tinpot excuse, yo