hands at the wicket gate on the far side of the compound, attracted her attention.
She beckoned him toward her.
"What you want, eh, Baloo?" she asked.
The nigger opened his vast mouth, and pointed to a tooth.
"Um plenty sick. Want terback," he said in a tone that made her look at him sharply.
"Toothache?" she observed. "You take um medicine."
Leaving the man on the veranda, she turned into the bungalow and, opening a small case, selected a bottle. She glanced through the open window at Baloo, wondering momentarily whether he had consciously spoken insolently. Her eyes wandered to the long whip which hung just within the door in case of emergency. Hitherto she had never used it, though the thing was used occasionally as a means of assisting a native to distinguish between right and wrong.
With a wad of cotton wool in one hand and the bottle in the other, she returned to the veranda.
Baloo, whose tooth did not ache, scowled. Medicine was of no use to him.
"Want plenty stick terback," he said, with growing boldness.
"No get tobacco," the girl declared with an air of finality. "You take um medicine."
