England -- Fiction; Magic -- Fiction; South Africa -- Fiction
“Everything. I am not going to leave you in your misfortune to go and
enjoy myself in the army. I could not do it; I should be wretched if I
did. No, old fellow, we have gone through a good many things side by
side, and, please God, we will stick to each other to the end of the
chapter.”
Ernest was always easily touched by kindness, especially now that his
nerves were shaken, and his heart softened by misfortune, and his eyes
filled with tears at Jeremy’s words. Putting out his hand, he felt
about for Jeremy’s, and, when he had found it, grasped it warmly.
“If I have troubles, Jeremy, at least I have a blessing that few can
boast—a true friend. If you had gone with the rest at Isandhlwana
yonder, I think that my heart would have broken. I think we do bear one
another a love ‘passing the love of women.’ It would not be worth much
if it didn’t, that is one thing. I wonder if Absalom was a finer fellow
than you are, Jeremy? ‘from the sole of his foot even to the crown of
his head there was no blemish in him.’ Your hair would not weigh ‘two
hundred shekels after the king’s weight,’ though” (Jeremy wore his hair
cropped like a convict’s); “but I would back you to throw Absalom over
your shoulder, hair and all.”
It was his fashion to talk nonsense when affected by anything, and
Jeremy, knowing it, said nothing.
Just then there came a knock at the door, and who should enter but
Mazooku, and Mazooku transformed. His massive frame, instead of being
clothed in the loose white garments he generally wore, was arrayed in a
flannel shirt with an enormous stick-up collar, a suit of
pepper-and-salt reach-me-downs several sizes too small for him, and a
pair of boots considerably too large for his small and shapely feet;
for, like those of most Zulus of good blood, his hands and feet were
extremely delicately made.
To add to the incongruity of his appearance, on the top of his hair,
which was still done in ridges, Zulu fashion, and decorated with long
bone snuff-spoons, was perched an extremely small and rakish-looking
billycock hat, and in his hand he carried his favourite and most
gigantic knobstick.
On opening the cabin-door he saluted in the ordinary fashion, and
coming in, squatted down on his haunches to await orders, forgetting
that he was not in all the freedom of his native dress. The results
were most disastrous. With a crack and a bang the reach-me-down
trousers, already strained to their utmost capacity, split right up the
back. The astonished Zulu flew up into the air, but presently
discovering what had happened, sat down again, remarking that there was
“much more room now.”
Jeremy burst out laughing, and having sketched his retainer’s
appearance for the benefit of Ernest, told him what had happened.
“Where did you get those things from, Mazooku?” asked Ernest.
Mazooku explained that he had bought the rig-out for three pound ten
from a second-class passenger, as the weather was growing cold.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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