Cupid in Africa Part 9

"What the devil's that?" asked the other, and both men regarded him seriously and with a kind of shocked interest. "Never heard of it."

"Don't think they keep it here," put in the shorter of the two men. "How d'you make it?"

"Lemon-juice, soda-water, and sugar," replied Bertram, and felt that he was blus.h.i.+ng in a childish and absurd manner.

Both men shook their heads, more in sorrow than in anger. They looked at each other, as might two physicians at the bedside of one whose folly has brought him to a parlous pa.s.s.

"Quite new to Africa?" enquired the taller.

"Yes. Quite," confessed Bertram.

"Ah! Well, let me give you a word of advice then," continued the man.

"_Don't touch dangerous drinks_. Avoid all harmful liquor as you would poison. It is poison, in this climate. Drink is the curse of Africa.

It makes the place the White Man's Grave. You can't be too careful. . . .

Can you, Piggy?" he added, turning to his friend.

"Quite right, Bill," replied "Piggy," as he rang a little bell that stood on a neighbouring table. "Let's have a 'Devil's Own' c.o.c.ktail and then some beer for a start, shall we? . . . No-can't be too careful. . . .

Look at me f'r example. Been in the country quarter of a century, an'

never exceeded once! Never _tasted_ it, in fact."

"What-alcohol?" enquired Bertram.

"No. . . . I was talking about harmful liquor," replied Piggy patiently.

"Things like-_what_ did you call it? . . . Chalk-squash?"

"Lime-squash," admitted Bertram with another glowing blush.

"Give it up, Sonny, give it up," put in Bill. "Turn over a new leaf and start afresh. Make up your mind that, Heaven helping you, you'll never touch a drop of the accursed poison again, but forswear slops and live cleanly; totally abstaining from-what is it?-soda-crunch?-fruit-juice, ginger-beer, lemonade, toast-water, barley-water, dirty-water, raspberryade, and all such filthy decoctions and inventions. . . ."

"Yes-give the country a chance," interrupted Piggy. "Climate's all right if you'll take reasonable care and live moderately," and he impatiently rang the little bell again. "'Course, if you _want_ to be ill and come to an early and dishonourable grave, drink all the rot-gut you can lay hands on-and break your mother's heart. . . ."

Piggy lay back in his chair and gazed pensively at the ceiling. So did Bill. Bertram felt uncomfortable. "Dear, dear, dear!" murmured Bill, between a sigh and a grunt. "Chalk-powder and lemonade! . . . what a nerve! . . . Patient, unrecognised, unrewarded heroism. . . ."

"Merciful Heaven," whispered Piggy, "slaked-lime and ginger-beer! . .

What rash, waste courage and futile bravery. . . ." And suddenly leapt to his feet, swung the bell like a railway porter announcing the advent of a train, and roared "_Boy_!" until a white-clad, white-capped Swahili servant came running.

"_N'jo_, Boy!" he shouted. "Come here! . . . Lot of lazy, fat _n'gombe_. {72a} . . . Three 'Devil's Own' c.o.c.ktails, _late hapa_,"

{72b} and as, with a humble "_Verna_, _Bwana_," the servant hurried to the bar, grumbling.

"And now he'll sit and have a _shauri_ {72c} with his pals, while we die of thirst in this accursed land of sin and sorrow. . . . Beastly _shenzis_. {72d} . . ."

"You don't like Africa?" said Bertram, for the sake of something to say.

"Finest country on G.o.d's earth. . . . The _only_ country," was the prompt reply.

"I suppose the negro doesn't make a very good servant?" Bertram continued, as Piggy rumbled on in denunciation.

"Finest servants in the world," answered that gentleman. "The _only_ servants, in fact. . . ."

"Should I take one with me on active service?" asked Bertram, suddenly remembering Ali Suleiman, _alias_ Sloper.

"If you can get one," was the reply. "You'll be lucky if you can. . . .

All snapped up by the officers of the Expeditionary Force, long ago."

"Yes," agreed Bill. "Make all the difference to your comfort if you can get one. Don't take any but a Swahili, though. . . . You can depend on 'em, in a tight place. The good ones, that is. . . ."

A big, fat, clean-shaven man, dressed in white drill, strolled up to the little group. He reminded Bertram of the portraits of Mr. William Jennings Bryan who had recently visited India, and in three days unhesitatingly given his verdict on the situation, his solution of all political difficulties, and his opinion of the effete Britisher-uttering the final condemnation of that decadent.

"h.e.l.lo! Hiram Silas P. Pocahantas of Pah," remarked Piggy, with delicate pleasantry, and the big man nodded, smiled, and drew up a chair.

"The drinks are on me, boys," quoth he. "Set 'em up," and bursting into song, more or less tunefully, announced-

"I didn't raise my boy to be a soldier,"

whereat Bill hazarded the opinion that the day might unexpectedly and ruddily dawn when he'd blooming well wish he bally well _had_, and that he could join them in a c.o.c.ktail if he liked-or he could bung off if he didn't. Apparently William disapproved of the American's att.i.tude, and that of his Government, toward the War and the Allies' part therein; for, on the American's "allowing he would _con_sume a highball" and the liquor arriving, he drank a health to those who are not too proud to fight, to those who do not give themselves airs as the Champions of Freedom, and then stand idly by when Freedom is trampled in the dust, and to those whose Almighty G.o.d is not the Almighty Dollar!

Expecting trouble, Bertram was surprised to find that the American was apparently amused, merely murmured "Shucks," and, in the midst of a violent political dissertation from Bill, ably supported by Piggy, went to sleep with a long thin cigar in the corner of his long thin mouth. He had heard it all before.

Bertram found his Devil's Own c.o.c.ktail an exceedingly potent and unpleasant concoction. He decided that his first meeting with this beverage of the Evil One should be his last, and when Piggy, suddenly sitting up, remarked: "What's wrong with the drinks?" and tinkled the bell, he arose, said a hurried farewell in some confusion, and fled.

"'Tain't right to send a half-baked lad like that to fight the Colonial German," observed Bill, idly watching his retreating form.

"Nope," agreed the American, waking up. "I _was_ going to say it's adding insult to injury-but you ain't injured Fritz any, yet, I guess,"

and went to sleep again before either of the glaring Englishmen could think of a retort.

Ere Bertram left the Club, he heard two pieces of "inside" military information divulged quite openly, and by the Staff itself. As he reached the porch, a lady of fluffy appearance and kittenish demeanour was delaying a red-tabbed captain who appeared to be endeavouring to escape.

"And, oh, Captain, _do_ tell me what 'A.S.C.' and 'C.C.' mean," said the lady. "I saw a man with 'A.S.C.' on his shoulders, and there are two officers with 'C.C.,' in the Club. . . . _Do_ you know what it means? I am _so_ interested in military matters. Or is it a secret?"

"Oh, no!" replied the staff-officer, as he turned to flee. "'A.S.C.'

stands for Ally Sloper's Cavalry, of course, and 'C.C.' for Coolie Catchers. . . . They are slave-traders, really, with a Government contract for the supply of porters. They get twenty rupees for each slave caught and delivered alive, and ten for a dead one, or one who dies within a week."

"What do they want the _dead_ ones for?" she whispered.

"_That_ I dare not tell you," replied the officer darkly, and with a rapid salute, departed.

Emerging from the Club garden on to the white road, Bertram gazed around for his trolley-boys and beheld them not.

"All right, ole chap," boomed the voice of Ali, who suddenly appeared beside him. "I looking after _Bwana_. Master going back along s.h.i.+ppy?

I fetch trolley now and see _Bwana_ at Kilindini, thank you, please sah, good G.o.d," and he disappeared in the direction of the town, returning a couple of minutes later with the trolley.

"Master not pay these dam' thieves too much, ole chap," he remarked.

"Two journey and one hour wait, they ask five rupees. Master give two-an'-a-puck."

"How much is a 'puck'?" enquired Bertram, ever anxious to learn.

"Sah?" returned the puzzled Ali.