His robe was of fine
monkey skin embroidered with rosettes of beads, and his spear was
very long, bright and keen. He was tall and finely built carried
himself with a free, lithe swing. As the quintette came to halt,
the villagers fell silent and our shauri began.
We drew up and dismounted. We all expectorated as gentlemen.
"These," said he proudly, "are my beebees."
We replied that they seemed like excellent beebees and politely
inquired the price of wives thereabout, and also the market for
totos. He gave us to understand that such superior wives as these
brought three cows and twenty sheep apiece, but that you could
get a pretty good toto for half a rupee.
"When we look upon our women," he concluded grandly, "we find
them good; but when we look upon the white women they are as
nothing!" He completely obliterated the poor little beebees with
a magnificent gesture. They looked very humble and abashed. I
was, however, a bit uncertain as to whether this was intended as
a genuine tribute to Billy, or was meant to console us for having
only one to his four.
Now observe the stagecraft of all this: entrance of diplomats,
preliminary conversation introducing the idea of the greatness of
N'Zahgi (for that was his name), chorus of villagers, and, as
climax, dramatic entrance of the hero and heroines.
