f livelihood as soon as it became quite clear to him that there
was nothing more to squeeze out of his relations. He, like Kayerts,
regretted his old life. He regretted the clink of sabre and spurs on
a fine afternoon, the barrack-room witticisms, the girls of garrison
towns; but, besides, he had also a sense of grievance. He was evidently
a much ill-used man. This made him moody, at times. But the two men
got on well together in the fellowship of their stupidity and laziness.
Together they did nothing, absolutely nothing, and enjoyed the sense
of the idleness for which they were paid. And in time they came to feel
something resembling affection for one another.

They lived like blind men in a large room, aware only of what came in
contact with them (and of that only imperfectly), but unable to see
the general aspect of things. The river, the forest, all the great land
throbbing with life, were like a great emptiness. Even the brilliant
sunshine disclosed nothing intelligible. Things appeared and disappeared
before their eyes in an unconnected and aimless kind of way. The river
seemed to come from nowhere and flow nowhither. It flowed through a
void. Out of that void, at times, came canoes, and men with spears in
their hands would suddenly crowd the yard of the station. They were
naked, glossy black, ornamented with snowy shells and glistening brass
wire, perfect of limb. They made an uncouth babbling noise when they
spoke, moved in a stately manner, and sent quick, wild glances out of
their startled, never-resting eyes. Those warriors would squat in
long rows, four or more deep, before the verandah, while their chiefs
bargained for hours with Makola over an elephant tusk. Kayerts sat on
his chair and looked down on the proceedings, understanding nothing. He
stared at them with his round blue eyes, called out to Carlier, "Here,
look! look at that fellow there--and that other one, to the left. Did
you ever such a face? Oh, the funny brute!"

Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swagger
up twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughty
indulgence, would say--

"Fine animals. Brought any bone? Yes? It's not any too soon. Look at
the muscles of that fellow third from the end. I wouldn't care to get a
punch on the nose from him. Fine arms, but legs no good below the knee.
Couldn't make cavalry men of them." And after glancing down complacently
at his own shanks, he always conclude