"Wait," he said curtly, over her head, to the Kafir, and led her within.
Kamis waited, leaning against the wall of the house. He had brought his task to an end and the finish had arranged itself fortunately; it had been worthy of his pains. The Boer had been startled from his balance; he had seen that nothing he could do would bear an equality with Boy Bailey's natural impulses; pardon and generosity were the only course left open to him. The work was complete and pleasing; and now he had leisure to feel how weary he was. He shut his eyes with an exhausted man's content at the relaxation of effort, and opened them again to find the Boer had returned and was standing in the doorway. He started upright, amazed to find that sleep had trapped him while he leaned and was aware that the Boer made a sudden and indistinct movement. Something heavy struck the ground at his feet.
He looked down at it where it lay, white and rounded, and recognized Mrs. du Preez's bundle, for which Boy Bailey had been ready to kick her into dumbness. Without addressing a word to him, the Boer had tossed him that double handful of money.
It took him a moment to realize what had taken place.
"What's this for?" he demanded then, possessed by a sudden anger that forgot he spoke from the mouth of a negro to ears of a white man.
"It is true you speak English, then?" said the Boer. "That is money--about a hundred pounds. It is for you. Pick it up."
"Pick it up yourself," retorted the Kafir. "I don't want your money."
"Eh?" The Boer did not understand in the least. "It is for you," he repeated. "A hundred sovereigns, because you have been good, very good, to the Vrouw du Preez. It is in that bundle."
The Kafir turned on his heel. "Take care of your wife," he said shortly. "If you worry her now, she 'll be ill. Good night."
"Here," cried the Boer, as Kamis walked away. "Here, boy, wait. Come back."
Kamis halted. "I 've plenty of money," he answered. "I 'm not Boy Bailey, you know."
Kamis did not move, so he stepped down and went forward himself. The Kafir's last word stuck in his thought.
"No," he agreed. "But who are you? Man, why don't you take the money?"
"If I were a Boer, I should take it," answered Kamis. "I 'd pick it up from a dunghill, wouldn't I? But, then, you see, I 'm not a Boer. I 'm a Kafir."