"You're one of those infernal fools who think a black man isn't a human being," he said. "I can't be ill a day without you must get into some dirty scrape or other. This is the third time in a month that you have come crossways-on with a native, and this time you're in for it with a vengeance. Porroh, too! They're down upon you enough as it is, about that idol you wrote your silly name on. And they're the most vindictive devils on earth! You make a man ashamed of civilisation. To think you come of a decent family! If ever I cumber myself up with a vicious, stupid young lout like you again"—
"Steady on, now," snarled Pollock, in the tone that always exasperated Waterhouse; "steady on."
At that Waterhouse became speechless. He jumped to his feet.
"Look here, Pollock," he said, after a struggle to control his breath. "You must go home. I won't have you any longer. I'm ill enough as it is through you"
"Keep your hair on," said Pollock, staring in front of him. "I'm ready enough to go."
Waterhouse became calmer again. He sat down on the camp-stool. "Very well," he said. "I don't want a row, Pollock, you know, but it's confoundedly annoying to have one's plans put out by this kind of thing. I'll come to Sulyma with you, and see you safe aboard"—
"You needn't," said Pollock. "I can go alone. From here."
"Not far," said Waterhouse. "You don't understand this Porroh business."
