It makes dead sheep of men."
"You seem to hang on pretty well," Trent remarked carelessly.
"Been up country lately?"
"I was trading with the King of Bekwando a month ago," Oom Sam
answered.
"Palm-oil and mahogany for vile rum I suppose," Trent said.
The man extended his hands and shrugged his shoulders. The old
gesture.
"They will have it," he said. "Shall we go to the hotel, Senor
Trent, and rest?"
Trent nodded, and the three men scrambled up the beach, across
an open space, and gained the shelter of a broad balcony, shielded
by a striped awning which surrounded the plain white stone hotel.
A Kru boy welcomed them with beaming face and fetched them drinks
upon a Brummagem tray. Trent turned to the Englishman who had
followed them up.
"To-morrow," he said, "I shall see you about the contracts. My
first business is a private matter with these gentlemen. Will you
come up here and breakfast with me?"
The Englishman, a surveyor from a London office, assented with
enthusiasm.
"I can't offer to put you up," he said gloomily. "Living out here's
beastly. See you in the morning, then."
He strolled away, fanning himself. Trent lit a long cigar.
"I understand," he said turning to Oom Sam, "that old Monty is alive
still.
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