CHAPTER XIII.
“GOOD morning, Dad.” Norah came out upon the wide portico of the hotel; a cool, fresh vision in a white linen frock.
“Good morning, my girl,” said her father. There was a line between his brows. “Have you seen the boys?”
“No—aren’t they down yet?”
“I don’t know where they are,” David Linton said. “They don’t seem to be in the hotel.”
“Oh, they’re bathing!” said Norah, with comfortable certainty. “It’s such a hot morning—I wanted ever so much to go myself, only I woke so disgracefully late.”
“No, they’re not bathing. I’ve been down, and there was no sign of them. I suppose they have gone out somewhere. They might at least get back in time for breakfast.”
“They won’t be long, you may be sure,” Norah answered. “I never saw such hungry boys! Let’s go in, Daddy; it’s late, and you ought to have your breakfast. The boys will turn up before we are half done.”
“Oh, I suppose they’re all right!” her father said, leading the way to their table. “They are quite big enough to look after themselves at any rate; if they miss breakfast it’s their own look-out.”
“Jim won’t miss breakfast,” said Jim’s sister. “What he has may be queer, but he’ll have something. I expect they’ve gone for a tram ride or a rickshaw trip, Daddy, and it has taken longer than they expected; if they find themselves too far from home when they get hungry, they’ll buy something.”
“I suppose so.” Mr. Linton beckoned to a waiter. “Tell the young gentlemen, if you see them, that we’re at breakfast.”
“Yes, sar,” said the waiter, a tall and immaculate Indian, in white clothes and a scarlet sash. He departed, to return presently.
“Young gen’lemen gone out, sar. Very early—before light. Not yet returned.”
“It’s very annoying,” Mr. Linton said, as the waiter withdrew. He laughed a little. “Jim has spoiled me, I suppose; he so rarely does anything eccentric that when he does, I feel injured.”
Norah answered his smile.
“Jim’s awfully dependable,” she said, with the quaint gravity which was wont to make Wally declare that she mistook herself for Jim’s aunt. “He’ll stroll in presently, Daddy, looking nice and calm, just as usual. They must have gone out exploring; the time here is so short, and it’s their first foreign land, so they want to see all they can.”
“Well, we don’t waste much time,” said Mr. Linton, still unappeased.
“No. But I expect they want to run free a bit. You know boys can’t want a girl with them all the time,” said Norah, sagely.
“I have not observed,” said her father, “that having you with them has made much difference to Jim and Wally’s fun in the past.”
“They’re awfully good about it,” Norah answered. “But I know other girls’ brothers object; most of them say they can’t be bothered with girls. Of course, Jim and I grew up mates, and that makes all the difference; I don’t really think he minds. But in a strange place they may want to go exploring, and a girl might be in the way.”
“Oh, possibly! All the same, I don’t know that I’m very keen on their getting too far off the beaten track, in a place like this—full of all sorts of natives. However, worrying does no good, and I suppose they’ll stroll in presently.” Mr. Linton applied himself to his breakfast. “This South African fish has a queer name, but it’s good, Norah; I’ll have some more.”
They looked up eagerly as each newcomer entered the dining-room. Breakfast was going on in the lazy, haphazard manner common to all hotels on Sunday. People strolled in at long intervals; mostly brown-faced people from up country, in summer raiment—linen and silk suits, and muslin frocks. Even in November Durban was very hot. But, though they spun out the meal to the greatest possible length, breakfast ended without any sign of the absentees. Mr. Linton went out on the verandah at last, and lit his pipe, while Norah cast fruitless glances up and down the white road, and across the terraces to the beach.
“Well, you say I mustn’t worry, but I should like to have your permission to be annoyed!” Mr. Linton said, when the pipe was satisfactorily working. “I want to go out, not to hang round the hotel. And what are we to do about those young rascals?”
“I don’t know,” Norah answered, doubtfully. “It is funny, isn’t it, Dad? I’m perfectly certain they are all right—but it’s so unlike Jim.” She hesitated. “We can’t go and find them—that’s certain; and Jim would be wild if we waited for him, and missed anything. I think we’d better go by ourselves.”
“So do I,” returned her father. “We’ll leave word that we’ll be in to luncheon, and if they come while we’re out they can amuse themselves; they are sure to want a bathe. Run and get your hat, lassie.” They went off presently, a rather forlorn looking pair.
It was about that time that Jim, in the darkness of the shed where he had been flung, stirred, and opened his eyes. His head throbbed furiously, and when he tried to sit up he found himself suddenly glad to lie back again. For a little while he remained still, trying to remember what had happened to him—with vague recollections that seemed to wander between a savage black face and an earthquake. He was not very sure about either.
A rustle in the straw close by startled him—and in a flash he remembered Wally, and forgot his aching bones. An instinct of prudence kept him from speaking. Slowly he raised himself on one arm, and felt in the darkness until he found a face, half-buried in straw. Wally stirred again.
“That you, old man?” he whispered weakly.
“Ss-h,” Jim cautioned. “Are you hurt?”
“I—don’t know,” Wally said, feebly. “I ache a heap—and my head’s queer.”
Jim set his teeth and managed to sit up. His head swam violently, and for a moment he wrestled with nausea; then he managed to steady himself, and began to feel Wally gently.
“Wish I dared strike a match,” he muttered, “but my hand is too shaky—and in this straw. Wal, you’ve no bones broken, old man, I think.”
“I don’t think so,” Wally answered. “Let’s wriggle.” He did so, and it evidently hurt him, for Jim heard the swift intake of his breath. “No, I’m all right,” he said. “How about you?”
“Oh—battered a bit!” said Jim, to whom memory was returning slowly. “Can I help you up, do you think? Great Cæsar, how this place smells!”
He worked an arm under Wally, and helped him to a sitting position—an effort which nearly lost consciousness for them both. They found the wall near, and leaned back against it thankfully, until giddiness subsided. Jim made further discoveries.
“My watch has gone,” he announced. “Nice people! Likewise my money—likewise my coat. How about you?”
“A clean sweep, I think,” Wally said, faintly. “I don’t seem to have anything but my shirt and trousers.”
“That was their game, I expect,” Jim said. “Steady, old man, you’re slipping—slip this way, and lean against my shoulder. They’ve taken all they could get, and I expect they’ve cleared out.”
“You don’t think they’ll have ideas about ransom?” Wally hazarded.
“Not vermin like those—and in a city. No, I’ll bet they’re making for Zululand or wherever they belong, by this time. Eh, but I was a fool!” said Jim, bitterly. “And I thought I knew how to look after myself!”
Wally groaned in sympathy.
“Well, they fell on us like a cyclone,” he said. “I don’t seem to remember anything beyond an appalling bang on my head and falling on top of you. The beggars got me from behind.”
“Mine began in front—but it was so sudden,” Jim said. “He looked such a sleepy, tired lout—one never dreamed of suspecting danger. Well, it will teach us a bit of sense. The question is, what are we going to do?”
“Do you think we’re locked in?”
“Very probably, but before I see, I’m going to get my muscles in something like working order,” Jim said. “Try moving a bit and rubbing your arms and legs—don’t stand up yet, or your head will swim.”
“It’s got a lump on it the size of a golf-ball,” said Wally, feeling his pate respectfully. “By Jove, I am stiff!”
“My face is as stiff as the rest of me,” Jim answered. “Feels like much dried gore. Well, thank goodness they didn’t break any bones.”
The boys rubbed energetically for a while, a process involving severe pain, since they encountered bruises at every touch. It did them good, however, and after a little time Jim was able to stagger to his feet, and to help Wally up.
“I don’t suppose we could put up much of a fight,” he said. “But we may not have to fight at all—they can’t get any more from us. Let’s see if we’re locked in.”
They felt carefully round the walls of the malodorous building, stumbling in the filthy straw which covered the floor. Jim’s fingers, groping in the darkness, at length discovered a latch; but the door refused to yield. They experimented noiselessly at first and then, made bold by indignation, shook it violently—without result.
“It’s a stable, evidently,” Jim said. “This door’s in two halves, and the top one is the one that is jammed—the lower half is pretty rickety. Well, if any one is about, we’ll get visited—and if we don’t get the door open we’ll certainly smother. Let’s try kicking it together, Wal.”
They kicked, with what strength was left them; and at the third onslaught a panel of the shaky door started outwards, letting in a gush of fresh air and light:
“Hurrah!” said Jim. “We’ll probably have the neighbourhood here in a minute, so we may as well go on kicking. Can you manage it?”
“Rather!” Wally panted. They attacked the next panel with fury. It fell out in a moment, leaving a hole wide enough to crawl through.
“No one in sight,” said Jim, putting out his head. “My word, the air is good. Come on, old man, I’m going to chance it.”
“Take care you don’t get another bang on the head,” Wally warned, watching his chum squeeze through the narrow space, and realising how helpless he would be in case of an attack. It was with immense relief that he saw Jim safely through, and, stooping, watched him scramble to his feet.
“No one in sight,” Jim said. “Everything silent. Can you get through, Wal?”
“Oh, yes!” said Wally, trying to steady his swimming head. He crawled through the hole, finding Jim’s arm waiting to aid him to his feet. For a moment they blinked at each other in the strong sunlight. Then, weak and aching as they were, they burst out laughing.
“Great Scott, Jimmy, you do look lovely!” Wally gasped. “Am I like that?”
“I don’t know how I look, but I’m ready to swear that you’re worse!” Jim answered. “They were certainly thorough, those Zulu gentlemen!”
They had been thorough. The immaculate lads who had strolled out of the hotel in the morning were tattered scarecrows, clad in shirt and trousers only—and those garments torn, and filthy from the straw on which they had been thrown. Nothing whatever of personal property remained to them. They were ghastly pale, their faces streaked with blood which had flowed freely from cuts and wounds, and had mingled with dirt into a remarkable colour scheme. Jim, in addition, possessed a pair of black eyes that could scarcely have been surpassed in richness of hue; while any German duelling student would have envied the cut which seamed Wally’s cheek.
“Even a native policeman would arrest us at sight as rogues and vagabonds,” Wally said. “Can’t we clean up a bit?”
“Don’t know,” Jim answered. “Let’s see.”
There was no sign of any occupant in the dingy hovel across the yard. The boys peeped fruitlessly through a shuttered window, tried the door, and found it locked, and could find no trace of either the rickshaw which had brought them there or the mule they had seen in the first stable. It was evident that the Zulus, after securing their booty, had hastily decamped. Further search, however, revealed a tap, dripping in a corner. They drank from it thirstily, and bathed their heads and faces for some time, with the aid of fragments torn from their tattered silk shirts.
“You look as if you had once been respectable,” Wally remarked. “At least you would, but for your black eyes. I know I’m hopeless, so you needn’t bother to say anything!” He dabbed at his cheek, which washing had induced to bleed again.
“You’ve improved tremendously,” Jim said. “Cold water is certainly not much good for dirt of this degree of grubbiness, but we don’t look quite such banditti as we did. How do you feel?”
“Better—only top-heavy and stiff. How about you?”
“Oh, I’m much the same—with a champion head ache; about the first I ever had, I think!” Jim answered. “Do you feel up to walking?”
“I wouldn’t choose it for pleasure,” said Wally, his old smile sitting oddly on his white face. “But I can manage it all right. What shall we do?”
“I think the only thing is to get back to the hotel,” Jim answered. “I thought of going to the ship for fresh clothes, but all our keys are at the hotel. No policeman would listen to us for a moment, looking like this; we’ll be lucky if we don’t get run in by the first we meet. It’s an abominably long way for you, old man—sure you can manage it?”
“Rather!” Wally said, cheerily. “We’ll prop each other up. Come along.”
They went out into the street. A few brown children were playing in the dust, and looked at them curiously, and some loutish Kaffir boys of fifteen or sixteen jeered at them from a verandah; but the houses were all shut, to keep out the heat, and they encountered very few passers-by—all natives, who showed little curiosity. The sun blazed fiercely on their bare heads; there was no shade in the street, and already they were again painfully thirsty. Wally staggered frequently from weakness, and was glad of Jim’s arm—though he put so little weight upon it that Jim abused him roundly. They made their painful way back towards the city.
“I’d be almost glad to meet a policeman,” Jim said, at last. “We’ll never walk all that way; you’re done now, old chap.”
“Not me!” Wally gasped. “Come on.”
They turned into a wider thoroughfare. It was nearing noon; Durban was waking up. Along the street, on his way to the principal square of the city, came trotting a very smart rickshaw boy—a vision of scarlet and white, and nodding plumes and towering bullock-horns. Jim looked at him hungrily.
“There’s the very fellow we had yesterday,” he said. “I suppose he’d howl if we tried to stop him.”
He gave an involuntary hail, and the Zulu, amazed at the crisp tone of command, stopped dead, looking at them doubtfully.
“What you want?” he said.
“Your rickshaw,” Jim answered. “Hotel King George.” He dragged Wally forward.
The Zulu grinned widely.
“Not much!” he said. “Got money?”
“At the hotel—not here.”
Something was puzzling the rickshaw “boy.” He looked questioningly from one to another of the white-faced lads. They were scarecrows—but he knew enough of the tourists he dragged round Durban to be certain that these belonged to the race that employed him. Jim’s disfigured face was full of authority. Wally, beyond any mere speech, leaned against the rickshaw, gripping the rail.
“You been hurt?” the “boy” ventured.
Jim explained curtly. There had been a fight, they had been robbed. They must get to the Hotel King George for clothes and money; moreover, this rickshaw must take them. “We had you yesterday,” Jim finished. “From the Point.”
Light suddenly flashed into the Zulu’s eyes.
“Blue Funnel ship?” he exclaimed.
Jim nodded. “Four of us. Will you take us? We’ll give you five shillings.”
The Zulu nodded so alarmingly that it seemed certain that his head-dress would fall off.
“Me take you,” he said. “Get in.” He came to help to get Wally into the seat. Jim climbed in thankfully.
“Go by back streets,” he commanded.
So it was that Norah, standing disconsolately on the hotel verandah, saw a strange rickshaw-load approaching—and after a hurried glance, fled to meet it.
“Jim—are you much hurt?”
“I’m all right—Wally’s about done,” Jim said. “Pay this chap, Norah; we’re going in by the back way. You’d better come too, to lend an air of respectability.”
Norah ran beside the rickshaw, choking back further questions. In the back yard of the hotel she encountered the manager, and a brief word of explanation brought help from half a dozen quarters.
“That chap has done us a mighty good turn,” Jim said, indicating the Zulu. “Give him ten shillings—I promised him five. You tell dad—we’ve been in a scrimmage, but there’s no need to worry—none whatever.” A sudden giddiness came over him, and two waiters caught him swiftly and bore him off in Wally’s wake. Norah, half-sobbing, heard him feebly informing them that he was never better able to walk.
An hour later the boys held a reception in their room. Hot baths and strong soap had done wonders for them, and the doctor Mr. Linton had insisted on summoning had declared that they had sustained no serious damage. A few strips of sticking-plaster adorned them, and Jim’s blackened eyes lent him a curiously sinister aspect.
“I never thought bed could feel so good,” Wally declared.
“Bed is good,” said Jim, from across the room—“but bath was better. What did that Zulu who brought us home say to you, Norah?”
“He was too overcome by his half-sovereign to say much at all,” Norah answered. “And as it was mainly Zulu-talk, I didn’t gather a great deal of what he did say.” She twinkled. “I think he meant to assure me that you were a great chief—no matter how grubby you looked. And as he has done nothing ever since but parade up and down the road in front of the hotel, I believe he means to attach himself to us permanently.”
“Tell him, if you see him, that we’ll have him again to-morrow,” Jim said. “He’s a good chap.”
“I don’t think you will do much rickshaw driving to-morrow,” Mr. Linton said.
“Won’t we!” said the patients, in chorus; and Jim laughed.
“I’m awfully sorry we made such asses of ourselves, and worried you, Dad,” he said. “But it’s bad enough to waste one shore day; we’ll be fit as fiddles to-morrow, and ready for anything—if you don’t mind going about with two battle-scarred objects.”
David Linton smiled a little grimly.
“There’s only one thing I should really mind,” he said—“and that would be to let you out again alone!”
“Jim set his teeth and managed to sit up.”
“Jim set his teeth and managed to sit up.”
CHAPTER XIV.
NORAH and her father left their patients sound asleep, after luncheon, and went out to Umgeni on the top of an electric tram—seeing Kaffirs innumerable, in gala Sunday dress, and, at the end of the long run, the shallow, winding river that seems to be always cutting for itself new channels among its mud-flats. A long bridge crosses it; they stood there, watching the bare-footed native boys who strolled through the river rather than trouble to climb up to the bridge.
“So much more sensible!” said Norah, envying them openly.
They found a hotel with a big garden sloping down to the river, and little tables with basket-chairs scattered about it. Two were in the shade of a big clump of bamboo; and there they had tea, and watched the queer, cosmopolitan crowd that filled the place—travellers, passengers from all the ships lying at the Point, soldiers and sailors, and the youth and beauty of Durban itself, out for the afternoon. The Indian waiters flitted about, busy and noiseless. There were long-legged birds in the garden, walking with ridiculous solemnity near the river-bank; and a big wire-netted house that held innumerable pigeons—exquisitely marked birds, whose cooing filled the air. Plants and flowers grew there which they had never seen; and there was a tree with tiny red-and-black seeds like jewels.
They strolled further up the winding road, and came to Umgeni village itself, where almost every coloured race seemed to nourish together. The deep bush grew on both sides of it, right up to the straggling street. All the people were out in front of their houses.
“Aren’t they the nicest children!” Norah uttered.
They were everywhere—cheery babies just able to crawl; mites of two or three in bright scraps of clothing; and bigger children who played their own solemn games without paying much attention to the strangers. One ridiculous person of perhaps four years came strutting down the middle of the street after his mother, his small form framed in a gigantic yellow umbrella, which he held open behind him. The best of all, they found in a patch of grass under a tree—half a dozen mothers with tiny babies, who tumbled about in every direction.
“Could I photograph them, do you think?” Norah asked.
“I don’t suppose they would mind,” her father replied. “We’ll ask them.”
To ask was one thing, but to get an answer, another. The Kaffir ladies were rather alarmed, and plainly regarded the small black box Norah held as a very bad kind of magic. They caught up their babies, and jabbered together, while Norah stood, half-laughing, making no attempt to photograph them without their permission. Help came in the person of a brisk rickshaw “boy,” who took in the situation at a glance, and explained to the anxious mothers that the white young lady merely wished to pay them and their children a high compliment in making a picture of them—whereupon the mothers subsided immediately, and held up the fat, brown scraps of humanity, who struggled wildly, like babies all the world over before a camera, while their anxious parents addressed to them the Kaffir equivalent of “Look pleasant, please.” The rickshaw “boy” stood by, beaming like a full moon, and uttering words of encouragement. Afterwards the travellers engaged him and his rickshaw—a contingency which he had probably foreseen; and they jogged lazily back to Durban, arriving at the hotel towards evening. Two tall figures, rather sheepish and pale-faced, rose from verandah lounges and came to meet them.
“You bad boys!” Norah exclaimed.
“Do you think you two should be out of bed?” Mr. Linton asked.
“Rather!” Jim answered firmly. “We stayed there until they brought us tea—but they didn’t bring half enough food, so we got up and went to find more. We’re all right.”
“It sounds as though you were!” Norah said, laughing. “How are the bruises?”
“Oh—a bit stiff. Exercise is the best thing for them.” The subject was evidently sorer than the bruises, and Jim changed it, demanding an account of their day.
“I’ve a letter from the captain,” Mr. Linton announced, when they all met at breakfast next morning. “The ship is leaving earlier than we thought—we have to be on board at noon.”
“Bother!” said his hearers, as one man.
“It’s a bore, but there are compensations. The warship we saw at the Point is going ahead of us to Cape Town—and that means no war precautions for a few days.”
“Open port-holes!” said Norah, blissfully. “Deck lights—no more stuffy saloon! Lights in one’s cabin——!”
“Which you’re sure not to need, since you can have it,” Wally interpolated.
“I’ll have it, anyhow,” said Norah, laughing. “It would be almost worth toothache!”
“I thought you would be pleased,” her father said. “There is also a letter from the police department, Jim, stating that their inquiries about your friends of yesterday have been fruitless. They have hunted up the house, but, as you suspected, the birds had flown.”
“Oh, they’re up-country by this time!” Jim said.
“So the police think. They say they may be able to track them by means of the list of stolen property we gave them, but it’s hardly likely.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter much,” Jim answered. “I shouldn’t be here to identify anything, and unless I could get my hands on the man who hit me I don’t know that I’m thirsting to hear of his being caught.”
“Only gore would satisfy us!” murmured Wally.
“Just so; failing gore, there’s not much satisfaction in hearing that they’ve put the poor brute in prison—except to teach him to let unsuspecting white people alone in future. I suppose that ought to be done,” Jim said, reflectively.
“Decidedly it ought—but the police don’t see much chance,” said Mr. Linton, folding up the letter. “Has any one any wishes as to occupying the morning?”
“I don’t know if you’ll think us a little insane,” Jim said—“but Wally and I consider that our honour, or what’s left of it, is, to a certain extent, at stake. We want to find that native market!”
“My dear boy, haven’t you had enough of that particular hunt?” asked his father, looking at his bruised face.
“It’s really harmless,” Jim explained. “We’ve been asking the manager; he says the place is quite near the city, and any rickshaw fellow knows it—we can choose one sufficiently ornamental to be respectable this time. And it’s an interesting place—he says Norah ought to see it.”
“Oh—can I go? Joyful!” said Norah, delightedly.
“Well, if it’s really all right, we’ll tackle it,” said Mr. Linton. “The doctor said it was a place to visit, I remember. We’ll send off our luggage to the ship at once, and then we’ll have a free hand.”
A spectacular figure awaited them in the road when they came out a little later, ready for exploration.
“I told you that gentleman had attached himself to the family,” said Norah, laughing. “Look—he’s just beaming at you, Jim!”
The Zulu “boy” who had befriended them the day before stood at attention, his broad, black face lit from ear to ear by a smile of welcome. His scarlet and white adornments were spic-and-span, and his headgear even more glorious than before.
“Gen’lemen allright?” he queried, as the boys approached. He cast a keen eye on their still visible signs of battle.
Jim nodded.
“Thanks to you for bringing us home, my friend, we are,” he said. “You know the native market?”
The Zulu grinned. “Oh, yes, sar!”
Jim hailed another rickshaw, and the four travellers boarded them and trotted off. Never was there to be seen anything so proud as the boys’ Zulu. He had evidently made up his mind that he belonged to them, and had betrayed some anxiety until certain that they were to be his passengers; but when this point was satisfactorily decided, he gave vent to the pride that was in him, and pranced off like a high-stepping circus horse—throwing out his feet, resplendent in a new coat of white paint, with his head well back, his feathers streaming, and his whole bearing full of vainglory.
“He looks as if he wanted to say ‘Bayété!’—whatever that means. And he certainly thinks he owns the road,” Wally said, watching the magnificent figure.
“I wish he’d moderate his transports,” Jim said, laughing. “He’s making every one look at us—and I prefer not to attract undue attention with a pair of black eyes like these—to say nothing of much sticking-plaster. However, I suppose it’s no good talking to him in English, and I don’t want to hurt the poor chap’s feelings—but this sort of thing makes one feel like a circus procession. One only needs a band and an elephant, to be complete!”
The “boy,” however, calmed down presently, and merely showed the depth of his emotion by going at such a pace that the other rickshaw steed fell far in the rear, and was justly indignant at his compatriot’s unreasonable energy. They raced through the town, and for a time followed the streets through which the boys had strolled the day before; but instead of turning into the poorer quarter, a turn brought them to a wide road where many mule-carts and shabby rickshaws blocked the way. Before a big building was a collection of smarter rickshaws—but their Zulu attendants were nowhere to be seen.
“That the market?” Jim called to his “boy.”
The Zulu paused.
“No sar—that eating-house. Gen’lemen like to see it? Market next door.”
“We might as well,” Jim said. “Wait for us.” Mr. Linton and Norah appeared, and they dismounted.
Within the big building Kaffirs squatted on the ground, working with wire at the native bangles that every South African traveller knows. Some were plaiting the wire into sjambok handles, in intricate patterns, laying the bands of wire among strands of raw-hide, or capping the finished handle with an elaborate “Turk’s head”; others had piles of bangles on the ground beside them, in all sizes, from those fitted for babies’ wrists to the big circlets worn above the knee. The work was wonderfully fine.
“I’m really glad to see those fellows,” Mr. Linton observed. “So much ‘native’ work is really made in Birmingham or Germany nowadays that one never knows what is genuine.”
“No,” said Wally. “One of my girl cousins was out with a camping-party in the wilds when she was staying in British East Africa, and they came across a few natives who offered curios for sale—rough carvings, bits of ivory, and things like that. Enid was awfully keen on genuine things, and jumped at the chance—as she said, you don’t often find the really untutored savage in these times. One of the things she bought was a big ivory bangle. I think she got it from a woman who was wearing it. Enid was very proud of it. She said it was so real.”
“It certainly should be, bought in those circumstances,” said Mr. Linton.
“It should. She was very annoyed on the voyage home when one of the officers rather doubted it. So they had a bet—he was to put a match to it, and pay up if nothing occurred. But when he applied the match poor Enid’s ‘ivory’ sputtered and went up in flame—and behold, there was no more bangle!”
“Celluloid!” Jim grinned.
Wally nodded. “Made in Birmingham or some such place, and shipped out by the gross to the untutored savage. Hollow world, isn’t it?”
Norah had bought bangles—fresh from the maker’s hand—and they turned away. A long table ran down the centre of the building, with rough benches drawn up to it; and here sat numbers of Kaffirs and Zulus, breakfasting. Many were of the rough coolie type, dressed in ordinary clothes; but here and there a blaze of colour marked the smart rickshaw steed—and in one corner where half a dozen were eating together their rainbow head-dresses were like a flower-bed, the brighter because of the dinginess all round them. On a separate table were immense bowls, heaped with steaming masses of curry and rice and weird-appearing stews. A man would come in and sit down, calling impatiently; and in an instant a native waitress would bring him a gigantic helping, supply him with an iron spoon, take his payment—a small copper coin—and rush off to a newcomer.
“You’d live cheaply here,” Wally remarked, watching a native boy attack a heap of curry like a miniature mountain.
“Yes, but you wouldn’t live long,” Norah answered. “Did you ever see such poisonous-looking food? I don’t think I want to watch this—it’s rather like the zoo at meal times. Let’s find the market.”
A stream of people going in and out guided them to the bazaar. It was almost entirely Indian, so far as the stalls were concerned, though the people who thronged it were of many nationalities. There was an impression of light and colour and cheerfulness. Indian women in bright draperies went up and down, many carrying tiny wise-eyed babies. There were stalls for the sale of native jewellery—gaudy, tinselled stuff that looked appalling as it hung to tempt the passer-by, but somehow became exactly the right thing when worn by the dark-eyed coloured women. It was mingled, however, with cheap jewellery of the kind that England and Germany turn out by the ton—and this did not fit in anywhere, but stood out among the native wares, blatantly vulgar. Then there were stalls for post-cards, and for strange religious pictures—gaudy representations of temples and gods and sacred animals; others covered with weird cooked foods, in bowls and dishes, and with cakes and high-coloured sweetmeats—all appearing, to Australian eyes, extremely unpleasant and indigestible, but apparently devoured with amazing appetite by the children who thronged the bazaar. Almost more interesting were the vegetable stalls, since here were piled such growths as the Australians had never heard of; curious green, twisted things like French beans run mad, masses of salad materials, equally novel, and oddly-shaped gourds of different colours.
Nobody took much notice of the Billabong party. Tourists were nothing new, and every one was too busy to trouble over them. Chattering, buying and selling, gossiping and eating, went on incessantly, with no time to spare from the business of the moment; it was evident that the market was the great occasion of the day to most of these cheery, chattering people. It was too crowded to keep together. Wally and Norah strolled on ahead, while Jim and his father paused to look at a stall devoted to the sale of different kinds of dried grain, not one of which they had ever seen before.
“Steady, old lad,” said Wally, stooping to pick up a fat black baby whose mother had placed it by the side of the path, giving it a horrible-looking cake to keep it occupied. A stray dog had annexed the cake, and the baby, staggering after it in helpless wrath, had fallen in the midst of the path, and lay there among the hurrying feet, uttering shrill cries.
“I’ll get it another,” said Norah, swiftly departing. She came back, gingerly carrying the delicacy, which the baby accepted gravely. The mother bore down on them, evidently anxious, but relieved by her offspring’s contented face.
“He’s all right,” Norah told her, smiling—the mother understanding the smile more than the words. Norah put a penny into the little hand not occupied by cake, and they strolled on, turning out of the crowded part towards a less frequented corner where they could see Mr. Linton and Jim.
“What rum beasts babies are!” said Wally, meaning no disrespect. “Some of ’em—the brand one knows—have to be brought up in prams by nurses, all sterilised and disinfected and germ-proof; and others tumble round in the dust among dogs, like that jolly little black imp, and grow up just as strong. I don’t understand it; I suppose I’m not meant to.”
“It is queer,” Norah admitted. “I suppose it’s what they’re used to.”
“But a baby can’t be awfully used to anything—except howling!” dissented Wally. “And these kids——”
“Block that man! Block him, Wally!”
Jim’s voice rang out over the din of the market as Wally had heard it many a time on the football field at school—and he swung to answer it just as he had learned to obey it there. A big Zulu was charging down the path; he saw Wally’s tense face, realised how thick was the crowd beyond him, and turned up a side alley. Jim put his hand on a long table and vaulted across to cut him off. He braced himself as he landed; then his left hand shot out and took the Zulu neatly on the point of the jaw. The big black crumpled up into a heap, and in a moment Jim and Wally were on top of him.
The market boiled as an ant-heap boils, stirred up by a careless kick. People came running and shouting, blocking every passage; many with threatening faces, looking angrily at the white lads and the struggling Zulu. Then two soldiers in khaki forced a way through the crowd.
“Guess this is where we lend a hand,” said one, securing the wrists of the prisoner in a workmanlike grip. “That was just about as neat a hit as ever I seen. I’d like to know who taught you, young feller. Lie still now, will you?” and the Zulu subsided, muttering unpleasant things.
“Get hold of a policeman, will you?” said Jim. “Wally, you go.”
“Oh, he’s wanted, is he?” said the second soldier, sitting comfortably on the Zulu’s legs. “I thought you seemed to know him.”
“I ought to,” Jim answered. “He gave me this pair of black eyes yesterday.”
The soldier whistled.
“No wonder you was anxious for him,” he said. “Well, I guess you’ve paid him back—he won’t eat comfortable for a week.” Then Wally and two native policemen came back through the chattering throng, and Jim handed the prisoner over to the care of the law.
They made a procession to the police-station, the Zulu maintaining a sullen silence, while a crowd gathered and followed them. Jim’s rickshaw “boy,” who had evidently learned the whole story from the hotel, was a centre of attraction—he dragged his empty chariot behind Jim, loudly explaining the matter to those about him, and proclaiming his undoubted belief in Jim’s chieftainship. The hero of the moment nursed badly-bruised knuckles and looked as unhappy as his prisoner.
At the station matters were swiftly dealt with—law in Durban did not believe in detaining a party of white tourists over a native case. A white-haired old Scotchman, authoritative and kindly, put swift questions.
“Ye canna identify any of y’re property, I suppose?”
Jim grinned.
“If you take off his tie you’ll find ‘Jones & Dawson, Melbourne,’ branded on it,” he said.
“Eh, but it’s so,” said the inspector, examining the adornment in question, which the native policemen had swiftly removed from the prisoner’s collarless neck. “Wull ye be wantin’ it back?”
“I will not,” said Jim, hastily. “Give it to him, with my blessing when he comes out—and I hope you won’t be hard on him, sir.”
“H’m. Ye’re a fulish young man,” said the inspector, severely. “Just because ye’ve got in a bonny wee hit on the jaw, ye’re satisfied—but there’s law an’ order to be kept, an’ me to see it’s done. D’ye think I want the next pair of eejiotic young Australians laid out in a stable?” Whereat Jim and Wally blushed, and interceded for the prisoner no more.
They signed various legal documents, and at length escaped.
“I don’t want him punished, poor wretch,” said Jim; “that smite on the jaw made me feel like a Christian lamb. But I suppose it’s got to be done.”
“Well, I didn’t get in at all, so I don’t feel half so godly,” returned Wally. “I think he’s well out of the way, and I only wish we’d caught his mate—the gentleman who attended to my head in the rear.”
“My sentiments, entirely,” Mr. Linton remarked. “And now we’ll get back to the ship. I trust every port isn’t going to supply us with as many sensations as Durban!”