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368 DICK SANDS, THE BOY CAPTAÎN. CHAPTER XL A BOWL OF PUXCII. TllE aftcrnoon was passîng away, and ît was now past four o'clock, when the sound of drums, cymbals, and a varictv of native instruments was heard at the end of thé main thoroughfare. The market was still going on wftK the samc animation as before ; half a day's screeching and fi^litintr scemed neitlier to havc wearied the voiccs nor brokcn the limbs of the demoniacal traffickers ; there was a CiMisiderable number of slaves still to be disposed of, and the dealers were hai^i^lin^^ over the remaining lots with an excitement of which a sudden panic on the London Stock Exchanc^e could give a very inadéquate conception. But the discordant concert which suddenly broke upon the car was the sii;nal for business to be at once suspended. The crowd might cease its uproar, and recover its breath. The King of Kazonndé, Moené Loonga, was about to honour the lakoni with a visit. Attentled by a large retinue of wives, officers, soldicrs» and slaves, the monarch was conveyed to the middle of the market-place in an old palanquin, from which he was obliged to hâve five or six people to help him to descend. Alvez and the other traders advanced to meet him with the most exaggerated gestures of révérence, all of which. he received a-i his rightful homage. He was a man of fifty }'ears of âge, but might casily hâve passed for eighty. He looked like an old, décrépit monkey. On his head was a kind of tiara, adomed with Jcopards' claws dyed teà, 'àwà .w^.?. o^ ^x^^'v=.K-vhite hair ;