Page:Harris Dickson--Old Reliable in Africa.djvu/197

 nice. He was sholy one polite ole man. Reckin' he was tellin' 'em to git out o' my way an' lemme go home. About dat time another cripple feller—pow'ful dirty—he hobbles up, an' ev'ybody kep' mighty still whilst he throws dis here thing roun' my neck. Den ev'ybody hollered. Tain't nothin' 'cept a bunch o' skeeter bar rings, an' rusty at dat. Huh!" Zack drew something from his pocket and dropped it disgustedly on the table, a tangle of brass rings which might have belonged to a low-class dancing girl. "Dat's de time when dey all commenced to kneel down befo' me, an' butt deir heads aginst de groun'."

"Knelt down and butted their heads against the ground, eh?" repeated General Durham with emphasis.

"Yas, suh, Gov'nor, yas, suh. Dat's de Gawd's troof. Dey sho done it fer a fac', an' blocked de road so nobody couldn't pass. Dat old crippled man, he sot 'em plum crazy."

"Old cripple man, you say? What did he look like?"

"He look mighty curyous. Never had no hands, nor yit no feet—all of 'em cut smack off. But dat nigger sho could scramble mightily on his nubbins."

"El Hadj Nejuma!" Durham exclaimed, then snatched up the tangle of brass which Zack had tossed upon the table. "By the nine Gods,