Three children rolled about in sunshine before the door of his low,
shed-like dwelling. Makola, taciturn and impenetrable, despised the two
white men. He had charge of a small clay storehouse with a dried-grass
roof, and pretended to keep a correct account of beads, cotton cloth,
red kerchiefs, brass wire, and other trade goods it contained. Besides
the storehouse and Makola's hut, there was only one large building in
the cleared ground of the station. It was built neatly of reeds, with a
verandah on all the four sides. There were three rooms in it. The one
in the middle was the living-room, and had two rough tables and a few
stools in it. The other two were the bedrooms for the white men. Each
had a bedstead and a mosquito net for all furniture. The plank floor was
littered with the belongings of the white men; open half-empty boxes,
torn wearing apparel, old boots; all the things dirty, and all the
things broken, that accumulate mysteriously round untidy men. There was
also another dwelling-place some distance away from the buildings. In
it, under a tall cross much out of the perpendicular, slept the man who
had seen the beginning of all this; who had planned and had watched
the construction of this outpost of progress. He had been, at home, an
unsuccessful painter who, weary of pursuing fame on an empty stomach,
had gone out there through high protections. He had been the first chief
of that station. Makola had watched the energetic artist die of fever
in the just finished house with his usual kind of "I told you so"
indifference. Then, for a time, he dwelt alone with his family, his
account books, and the Evil Spirit that rules the lands under the
equator. He got on very well with his god. Perhaps he had propitiated
him by a promise of more white men to play with, by and by. At any rate
the director of the Great Trading Company, coming up in a steamer that
resembled an enormous sardine box with a flat-roofed shed erected on it,
found the station in good order, and Makola as usual quietly diligent.
The director had the cross put up over the first agent's grave, and
appointed Kayerts to the post. Carlier was told off as second in charge.
The director was a man ruthless and efficient, who at times, but very
imperceptibly, indulged in grim humour. He made a speech to Kayerts and
Carlier, pointing out to them the promising aspect of their station.
The nearest trading-post was about three hundred miles away. It was an
exc