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By Root 4626 0

� quarters, � a cluster of thatched cabins, circular, windowless, emitting at all hours a cosy smell of woodsmoke and curry, � the centre of a voluble round of hospitality which culminated often enough in the late evening with song and rhythmical clapping. The night watchman had his own lair where he lived morosely with two wrinkled wives. He was a tough old warrior who passed his brief waking hours in paring the soles of his feet with his dagger or buttering the bolt of his ancient rifle. Frau Dressler's guests varied as a rule from three to a dozen in number. They were Europeans, mostly of modest means and good character. Frau Dressler had lived all her life in Africa and had a sharp nose for the unfortunate. She had drifted here from Tanganyika after the war, shedding Herr Dressler, none knew exactly where or how, on her way. There were a number of Germans in Jacksonburg employed in a humble way in the cosmopolitan commercial quarter. Frau Dressler was their centre. She allowed them to come in on Saturday evenings after the guests had dined, to play cards or chess and listen to the wireless. They drank a bottle of beer apiece; sometimes they only had coffee, but there was no place for the man who tried to get away without spending. At Christmas there was a decorated tree and a party which the German minister attended and subsidized. The missionaries always recommended Frau Dressler to visitors in search of cheap and respectable lodgings. She was a large shabby woman of unbounded energy. When William confronted her she was scolding a group of native peasants from the dining-room steps. The meaning of her words was hidden from William; from the peasants also, for she spoke Ishmaelite, and bad Ishmaelite at that, while they knew only a tribal patois; but the tone was unmistakable. The peasants did not mind. This was a daily occurrence. Always at dawn they appeared outside Frau Dressler's dining-room and exposed their wares � red peppers, green vegetables, eggs, poultry, and fresh local cheese. Every hour or so Frau Dressler asked them their prices and told them to be off. Always at half-past eleven, when it was time for her to begin cooking the midday dinner, she made her purchases at the price which all parties had long ago decided would be the just one. "They are thieves and impostors," she said to William. "I have been fifteen years in Jacksonburg and they still think they can cheat. When I first came I paid the most wicked prices � two American dollars for a lamb; ten cents a dozen for eggs. Now I know better." William said that he wanted a room. She received him cordially and led him across the yard. The three-legged dog barked furiously from his barrel; the milch-goat shot out at him like a cork from a popgun and, like it, was brought up short at the end of her string; the night watchman's gander hissed and ruffled his plumage. Frau Dressler picked up a loose stone and caught him square in the chest. "They are playful," she explained, "particularly the goat." They gained the verandah, sheltered from rain and livestock. Frau Dressler threw open a door. There was luggage in the bedroom, a pair of woman's stockings across the foot of the bed, a woman's shoes against the wall. "We have a girl here at the moment. She shall move." "Oh but please ... I don't want to turn anyone out." "She shall move," repeated Frau Dressler. "It's my best room. There is everything you want here." William surveyed the meagre furniture; the meagre, but still painfully superfluous, ornaments. "Yes," he said. "Yes, I suppose there is."

A train of porters carried William's luggage from the Hotel Liberty. When it was all assembled, it seemed to fill the room. The men stood on the verandah waiting to be paid. William's own boy had absented himself on the first signs of packing. Frau Dressler drove them off with a few copper coins and a torrent of abuse. "You had better give me anything of value," she said to William, "the natives are all villains." He gave her Corker's objects of art; she carried them off to her room and stored them safely under the bed. William began to unpack. Presently there was a knock outside. The door opened. William had his back to it. He was kneeling over his ant-proof chest. "Please," said a woman's voice. William turned round. "Please may I have my things?" It was the girl he had seen the day before at the Swedish mission. She wore the same mackintosh, the same splashed gum boots. She seemed to be just as wet. William jumped to his feet. "Yes, of course, please let me help." "Thank you. There's not very much. But this one is heavy. It has some of my husband's things." She took her stockings from the end of the bed. Ran her hand into one and showed him two large holes, smiled, rolled them into a ball and put them in the pocket of her raincoat. "This is the heavy one," she said, pointing to a worn leather bag. William attempted to lift it. It might have been full of stone. The girl opened it. It was full of stone. "They are my husband's specimens," she said. "He wants me to be very careful of them. They are very important. But I don't think anyone could steal them. They are so heavy." William succeeded in dragging the bag across the floor. "Where to?" "I have a little room by the kitchen. It is up a ladder. It will be difficult to carry the specimens. I wanted Frau Dressler to keep them in her room but she did not want to. She said they were of no value. You see, she is not an engineer." "Would you like to leave them here?" Her face brightened. "May I? It would be very kind. That is what I hoped, but I did not know what you would be like. They said you were a journalist." "So I am." "The town is full of journalists but I should not have thought you were one." "I can't think why Frau Dressler has put me in this room," said William. "I should be perfectly happy anywhere else. Did you want to move?" "I must move. You see this is Frau Dressler's best room. When I came here it was with my husband. Then she gave us the best room. But now he is at work so I must move. I do not want a big room now I am alone. But it would be very kind if you would keep our specimens." There was a suitcase which belonged to her. She opened it and threw in the shoes and other woman's things that lay about the room. When it was full she looked from it to the immense pile of trunks and crates, and smiled. "It is all I have," she said. "Not like you." She went over to the pile of cleft sticks. "How do you use these?" "They are for sending messages." "You are teasing me." "No, indeed I'm not. Lord Copper said I was to send my messages with them." The girl laughed. "How funny. Have all the journalists got sucks like this?" "Well no; to tell you the truth I don't believe they have." "How funny you are." Her laugh became a cough. She sat on the bed and coughed until her eyes were full of tears. "Oh, dear. It is so long since I laughed and now it hurts me...What is in this?" "A canoe." "Now I know you are teasing me." "Honestly, it's a canoe. At least they said it was at the shop. Look, I'll show you." Together they prized up the lid of the case and filled the floor with packing. At last they found a neat roll of cane and proofed canvas. "It is a tent," she said. "No, a canoe. Look." They spread the canvas on the floor. With great difficulty they assembled the framework of jointed cane. Twice they had to stop when the girl's laughter turned to a paroxysm of coughing. At last it was finished and the little boat rose in a sea of shavings. "It is a canoe," she cried. "Now I will believe you about those sticks. I will believe everything you tell me. Look, these are seats. Get in, quick, we must get in." They sat opposite one another in the boat, their knees touching. The girl laughed, clear and loud, and this time did not cough. "But it's beautiful," she said. "And so new. I have not seen anything so new since I came to this city. Can you swim?" "Yes." "So can I. I swim very well. So it will not matter if we are upset. Give me one of the message sticks and I will row you..."