Sanders–er–difficult, but you must have a great deal of patience.”

“Sir,” said Mr. Tobolaka, speaking under stress of profound emotion, “I’m e-eternally obliged. You’ve been real good to me, and I guess I’ll make good.”

Between the date of Tobolaka’s sailing and his arrival Sanders ordered a palaver of all chiefs, and they came to meet him in the city of the Isisi.

“Chiefs and headmen,” said Sanders, “you know that many moons ago the Isisi people rose in an evil moment and made sacrifice contrary to the law. So I came with my soldiers and took away the king to the Village of Irons, where he now sits. Because the Isisi are foolish people my Government sets up a new king, who is Tobolaka, son of Yoka’n'kkema, son of Ichulomo, the son of Tibilino.”

“Lord,” gasped an Isisi headman, “this Tobolaka I remember. The God-folk took him away to their own land, where he learnt to be white.”

“Yet I promise you that he is black,” said Sanders dryly, “and will be blacker. Also, chiefs of the Ochori, N’gombi, and Akasava, this new king will rule you, being paramount king of these parts, and you shall bring him presents and tribute according to custom.”

There was an ominous silence. Then O’kara, the chief of the Akasava, an old and arrogant man spoke:

“Lord,” he said, “many things have I learnt, such as mysteries and devil magic, yet I have not learnt in my life that the Akasava pay tribute to the Isisi, for, lord, in the year of the Floods, the Akasava fought with the Isisi and made them run; also, in the year of the Elephants, we defeated the Isisi on land and water, and would have sat down in their city if your lordship had not come with guns and soldiers and tempted us to go home.” The Akasava headmen murmured their approval.

“Alas,” said the chief of the N’gombi, “we people of the N’gombi are fierce men, and often have we made the Isisi tremble by our mighty shouts. Now I should be ashamed to bring tribute to Tobolaka.”

The palaver waited for Bosambo of the Ochori to speak, but he was silent, for he had not grasped the bias of the Commissioner’s mind. Other men spoke at length, taking their cue from their chiefs, but the men of the Ochori said nothing. “For how was I to speak?” said Bosambo, after the palaver. “No man knows how your lordship thinks.”

“You have ears,” said Sanders, a little irritated.

“They are large,” admitted Bosambo, “so large that they hear your beautiful voice, but not so long that they hear your lordship’s loving thoughts.”

Sanders’s thoughts were by no means loving, and they diminished in beauty day by day as the ship which carried Tobolaka to his empire drew nearer.

Sanders did not go down to the beach to meet him; he awaited his coming on the verandah of the residency, and when Tobolaka arrived, clad from head to foot in spotless white, with a helmet of exact colonial pattern on his head, Sanders swore fluently at all interfering and experimenting Governments.

“Mr. Sanders, I presume?” said Tobolaka in English, and extended his hand.

“Chief,” said Sanders in the Isisi tongue, “you know that I am Sandi, so do not talk like a monkey; speak rather in the language of your people, and I will understand you better–also you will understand me.”

It so happened that Tobolaka had prepared a dignified little speech, in the course of which he intended congratulating Sanders on the prosperity of the country, assuring him of whole-hearted co-operation, and winding up with an expression of his wishes that harmonious relations should exist between himself and the State.

It was founded on a similar speech delivered by King Peter of Servia on his assuming the crown. But, unfortunately, it was in English, and the nearest Isisi equivalent for congratulation is an idiomatic phrase which literally means, “High-man-look-kindly-on-dog-slave-who-lies-at-feet.” And this, thought Tobolaka, would never do at all, for he had come to put the Commissioner in his place.

Sanders condescended to talk English later when Tobolaka was discussing Cabinet Ministers.

“I shall–at the Premier’s request–endeavour to establish district councils,” he said. “I think it is possible to bring the native to a realisation of his responsibility. As Cicero said–“

“Do not bother about Cicero,” said Sanders coldly. “It is not what Cicero said, but what Bosambo will say: there are philosophers on this river who could lose the ancients.”

Tobolaka, in a canoe sent for him by the Isisi folk, went to his new home. He hinted broadly that a state entrance in the Zaire would be more in keeping with the occasion.

“And a ten-gun salute, I suppose!” snarled Sanders in Isisi. “Get to your land, chief, before I lose my patience, for I am in no mood to palaver with you.”

Tobolaka stopped long enough at headquarters to write privately to the admirable Mr. Cardow, complaining that he had received ’scant courtesy’ at the hands of the Commissioner. He had shown ‘deplorable antagonism.’ The letter concluded with respectful wishes regarding Mr. Cardow’s health, and there was a postscript, significant and ominous to the effect that the writer hoped to cement the good feeling which already existed between Great Britain and the United States of America by means which he did not disclose.

The excellent Mr. Cardow was frankly puzzled by the cryptic postscript, but was too much occupied with a successful vote of censure on the Government which had turned him into the cold shades of Opposition to trouble to reply.

Tobolaka came to his city and was accorded a rapturous welcome by a people who were prepared at any given hour of the day or night to jubilate over anything which meant dances and feasts.

He sat in the palaver house in his white duck suit and his white helmet, with a cavalry sword (this Sanders had not seen) between his knees, his white-gloved hands resting on the hilt.

And he spoke to the people in Isisi, which they understood, and in English, which they did not understand, but thought wonderful. He also recited as much of the “Iliad” as he could remember, and then, triumphant and a little hoarse, he was led to the big hut of chieftainship, and was waited upon by young girls who danced for his amusement.

Sanders heard of these things and more. He learnt that the Isisi were to be ruled in European fashion. To Tobolaka came Gala, a sycophantic old headman from the village of Toroli, with soft and oily words. Him the king promoted to be Minister of Justice, though he was a notorious thief, Mijilini, the fisher chief, Tobolaka made his Minister of War; he had a Home Secretary, a Minister of Agriculture, and a Fishery Commissioner,

Sanders, steaming up-river, was met by the canoe of Limibolo, the Akasava man, and his canoe was decorated with clothes and spears as for a wedding. “Lord,” said the dignified Limibolo, “I go to my village to hold a palaver, for my lord the king has called me by a certain name which I do not understand, but it has to do with the hanging of evil men, and, by Iwa! I know two men in my village who owe me salt, and they shall hang at once, by Death!”

“Then will I come and you shall hang also!”, said Sanders cheerlessly. “Be sure of that.”

It transpired that the light-hearted Limibolo had been created sheriff.

Tobolaka was on the point of raising an army for his dignity, when Sanders came upon the scene.

He arrived without warning, and Tobolaka had no opportunity for receiving him in the state which the king felt was due equally to himself and to the representative of Government. But he had ample time to come to the beach to greet the Commissioner according to custom. Instead, he remained before his hut and sent his minister in attendance, the ignoble Cala.

“O Cala!” said Sanders as he stepped ashore across the Zaire’s narrow gangway, “what are you in this land?”

“Lord,” said Cala, “I am a great catcher of thieves by order of our lord; also, I check evil in every place.”

“O Ko!” said Sanders offensively, “now since you are the biggest thief of all, I think you had best catch yourself before I catch you.”

He walked through Isisi city.