to the left-hand barge and ostentatiously displayed himself amongst the huddle of donkeys. He wanted the Colonel to see him; his white helmet bobbed about here and there, in plain sight, until the Colonel forgot about it. Then Zack disappeared. In the dimness of the gunboat's boiler-deck, he wheeled and confronted Said: "Git back, nigger. I'm plum wore out wid you taggin' 'atter me. Git back, an' listen when I makes my holler."
Said salaamed to the ground, and effaced himself. Old Reliable strutted off, intent upon philandering affairs of such a nature that they could best be conducted without an interpreter.
Above stairs Lyttleton turned languidly in his chair; then his eyes twinkled with that concentrated pucker about their corners which comes of long staring into the desert. "Colonel, your black man has gone back to those women; he'll get himself into trouble." As he spoke, Lyttleton drew the American to the right-hand rail from which they could see the rear end of the next barge. There sat Old Reliable, in khaki suit and gorgeous helmet, seated radiantly amongst a group of kneeling women, who seemed to be making batter-cakes.
"Those women belong to the Sultan of Bong," Lyttleton explained. "He's got his harem upstairs—see that space enclosed with matting.
