"They've brought the cowries, Master."
"Well! I didn't tell you to buy £1000 worth—I haven't brought a bank in my pocket. Clear it all away except what I gave you the money for."
He said there was only two pounds worth there.
I never felt so rich in my life: as Dr. Johnson would say, I revelled in wealth beyond the potentiality of dreams of avarice. A solitary cowry is not of much value: 20,000 of them are equivalent to twelve shillings and sixpence, so I had more than 60,000. I told the carriers to take a few in payment, filled my pockets with some more, and went out with a light heart to buy up the whole market; taking care, however, to lock up the place, as I thought that so much unguarded wealth might be a temptation to the evilly disposed. My boy suggested that I ought to count my change to see if it was correct; but I decided not to.
A few days after my arrival there was a ball given by a club which rejoices in the name of "The Flower of Lagos." The members of this Club are all negroes, principally haughty aristocrats from Sierra Leone, Liberia, and the Gold Coast, and I believe that they do not admit any of the Mohammedan canaille to membership.
I never was at such an amusing ball in my life,
