ives
and colored people, also one European in lonely majesty. This
last stood smoking a cigarette in an amber or mock-amber
mouthpiece. He was a boy not long out of his teens, a boy with a
dazzling complexion if, indeed, he were not a girl in a boy's
grey suit. He introduced himself, as he ushered his fellow-traveler
into a compartment. 'I'm the only one here,' he said. 'I've been
alone since Mafeking. I'm George Donald, and I'm just out from
Derry.' Home accepted the cigarette that was offered him.
Then he wiped his face again a dark, fiercely-burnt face. He
was a man over forty; he looked more than his age, or as if he
had had very hard times. 'Going far?' he asked. 'Not much further
now,' the boy said cheerfully. 'My station's fifty miles beyond
Gwelo. I'm about sick of it. I traveled second class on the boat.
But they never sent any money for expenses, so I've had to pig it
on this train.' Home smiled. 'Ever been out before?' he asked.
Donald shook his head. Then he indulged in many confidences. 'I'm
going to be partner in a trading concern,' he said. 'Soldana's is
the name of the place.' He went on to describe the voyage out,
with free criticisms of the food and of fellow-passengers. They
had had a concert or two on board, and he had recited at the
second-class concert last week. 'What did you recite?' Home asked
him. 'Oh, I gave them "Sir Galahad." I had to grind it up, with
lots more of Tennyson, for an exam. You know it?' Home nodded.
His lips moved. 'How ever does it go?' he said a moment after. 'I
only remember tags of lines here and there "And star-like mingles
with the stars." That's authentic, isn't it?' The boy repeated
the stanza whence those words came. 'Would you like any more?' he
asked. Home grinned. 'May as well have it through, if it's all
the same to you,' he said. So the boy began at the beginning, and
continued, and made an end, Home watching him all the while. His
eyes had satire in them as he watched, but they had also
admiration. Two or three hours after, they drew up at another
siding, and Home got together his belongings. He handed them to a
Bechuana boy who stood waiting for them outside on the step. Then
he settled himself down again, for the engine was waiting to take
water. He wrote a few words on a half-sheet and handed it to
Donald. 'That's my address,' he said. 'Do write or look me up at
my store, if I can be of any use at any time.' The reciter of
'Sir Galahad' shook his hand warml