"Well, and now you have, and in a mighty queer sort of way. And, do you know, Haviland, if you had been any one else, I'd have let them do what they liked with you. I hate white people. Nick and the others at Saint Kirwin's taught me that. I wish I'd got Nick here. I'd put him through what Mushad's dogs underwent. Then I'd make him dance on that fire." The recollection of his school experiences and discipline revived all the savage in the young King. His face hardened vengefully. "Oh, bosh, Cetchy," replied Haviland, with a laugh. "You surely don't bear a grudge against Nick for giving you a licking now and then; it's all in the ordinary course of things when a fellow's at school. Supposing every fellow I'd ever given a licking to wanted to burn me. Instead of that, we'd be shaking hands and talking over old times. Jarnley, for instance." Umnovunovu burst into a roar, his good humour quite restored. "Jarnley!" he echoed, "I gave him such a licking before I left. You see, I was growing every day, and I felt strong enough to lick Jarnley. So we fought, and I licked him." It was a curious contrast, this easy and light-hearted school reminiscence, proceeding from the mouth of a blood-stained barbarian despot, clad in his savage panoply, and enthroned at the head of his astounded subjects. And on the ground, where they had fallen, the huge gory trunks of the decapitated executioners. Haviland saw the _bizarre_ incongruity of the situation, and said as much, adding with something of a shudder as his glance fell upon the hideous corpses:-- "You're a cruel young beggar, Cetchy, you know. Why are you?" "Cruel? Look here, Haviland. When you did wrong, Nick gave you a thousand lines, or a thrashing. I can't give my people lines because they can't write, and a thrashed man does wrong again, but a killed man, never. If I stopped killing, I should stop being King, for it would mean that. But--who is he?" pointing towards Oakley. "A friend I rescued in rather a strange manner. I'll call him." And he started towards Oakley, all making way before him now, so great was the general amazement. And he had a purpose in this move. "Oakley," he said hurriedly, and in an undertone. "For your very life, don't let go you're related to Nick, or that you ever so much as heard of him. Be careful. I'll tell you after." Then to Oakley's astonishment the King began to converse with him in fluent English, and he, listening, thought it was a lucky day for Haviland the day he punched Jarnley's head for bullying the new boy at Saint Kirwin's, whom the missionary's well-intentioned zeal had placed at that seat of learning--a lucky day for himself, too. But quick to grasp Haviland's warning, he was nothing if not non-committal. "Ha!" chuckled Umnovunovu, erewhile Anthony. "They thought to make me Umfundisi [Missionary], but it suits me better to be a King."