however, took it all in good part, and in time they
departed, well satisfied. But Kettle wore a gloomy face.

"Funny, wasn't it?" said Clay.

"I call it beastly," Kettle snapped. "This sort of thing's got to stop.
I'm not going to have my new Republic dirtied by shows like that."

"Well," said Clay flippantly, "if you will set up as a little tin god on
wheels, you must expect them to say their prayers to you."

"I didn't do anything of the kind. I merely stepped in and conquered
them."

"Put it as you please, old man. But there's no getting over it that
that's what they take you for."

"Then, by James! it comes to this: they shall be taught the real thing!"

"What, you'll import a missionary?"

"I shall wade in and teach them myself."

"Phew!" whistled Clay. "If you're going to start the New Jerusalem game
on the top of the New Republic, I should say you'll have your
hands full."

"Probably," said Kettle grimly; "but I am equal to that."

"And you'll not have much time left to see after ivory palaver."

"I shall go on collecting the ivory just the same. I shall combine
business with duty. And"--here he flushed somewhat--"I'm going to take
the bits of souls these niggers have got, and turn them into the
straight path."

Clay rubbed his bald head. "If you're set on it," said he, "you'll do
it; I quite agree with you there. But I should have thought you'd seen
enough of the nigger to know what a disastrous animal he is after some
of these missionaries have handled him."

"Yes," said Kettle; "but those were the wrong sort of missionary--wrong
sort of man to begin with; wrong sort of religion also."

And then, to Dr. Clay's amazement, his companion broke out into a
violent exposition of his own particular belief. It was the first time
he had ever heard Kettle open his lips on the subject of religion, and
the man's vehemence almost scared him. Throughout the time they had been
acquainted, he had taken him to be like all other lay white men on the
Congo, quite careless on the subject, and an abhorrer of missions and
all their output; and, lo! here was an enthusiast, with a violent creed
of his very own, and with ranting thunders to heave at all who differed
from him by so much as a hairs-breadth. Here was a devotee who suddenly,
across a great ocean of absence, remembered the small chapel in South
Shields, where during shore days he worshipped beside his wife and
children. Here was a prophet, jerked by circum