The Krooboy thought over this proposition for some minutes. Then said he: "I fit for tell you, Carter, dem last white man I pipe-clay shoes for, he lib for cemetery in two week. Savvy, Carter? Two week." "All right, don't get so emphatic. I wasn't doubting you. But I'm going to risk the cemetery all the same. You may start by providing me with one pair of clean shoes a day, and when I get the taste of cleanliness again, maybe I'll run to two. Savvy?" "Savvy plenty," grumbled White-Man's-Trouble, and then presently. "You no fit for steamah palaver? You no lib for home?" "No, I'm not going home yet awhile." "But you plenty-much fine." "Yes," admitted Carter, "I caught sight of myself in mildewed pyjamas and a fortnight's beard, and was struck with the general filthiness of my personal appearance. Savvy?" "Savvy plenty. Oh, Carter, you lib for wife-palaver? Dem plenty-much fine clothes always one of the customs before wife-palaver." The Krooboy pondered over this discovery during the next two miles of the march, and then said he, "Oh, Carter?" "Well?" "Dem Slade. You savvy seegar?" "I suppose so. Why?" "I see Smith dash dem Slade one box seegar an' he got what Slade said 'no fit' for before. Oh, Carter, you dash dem Slade one box seegar," said White-Man's-Trouble, and he treated his employer to a knowing wink. "Whatever for?" "Because then, after he got dem seegar, he sell you Laura for half dem price he ask before." "You're an impertinent savage," said Carter half tickled, half annoyed. But White-Man's-Trouble stopped, put down the yellow Gladstone bag on the baking sand, and pointed to the blue parallel tribal tattoo marks between his brows. "I Krooboy, sar. I no bushboy, sar! I lib for educate as deckboy an' stan'-by-at-crane boy on steamah, sar. I no fit for stay with you, sar, if you call me impertinent savage." Carter stared. "Good heavens, man! I didn't intend to hurt your feelings." White-Man's-Trouble waved the bleached inside of his paw towards his master. "Oh, Carter, you apologize. Palaver set." He bowed a head which was quaintly shaved into garden patches, replaced the Gladstone bag on its central bed of wool, and once more strode cheerfully ahead. Carter followed moodily. How had they all guessed at his admiration for Laura? He had thought it the most intimate of secrets, a delicate confidence that he had no more than dared breathe even to his own inner consciousness. But first old Smith had blurted it out, and now even his servant talked about it openly. He had no doubt whatever that the whole thing had been fully discussed over the cooking fires of the native compound at Malla-Nulla the night before.