The Native Commissioner was hurrying home. It was nearly midday and
getting hot. Moreover, he had been on a long journey and was anxious to
get back to his bungalow which, for him, meant a measure of
civilisation. His garden, his books, prints on the wall, white ducks,
fair cooking and no more tinned food for a while, a cool verandah and
occasional converse with his fellow officials. At daylight he had left
his caravan to follow whilst he pushed on ahead.
His sturdy horse also had thoughts of home for, in spite of the heat, he
cantered briskly along the dusty road without any encouragement from his
master. Half a mile from the house a short cut skirted a patch of young
gum trees and led through the servants' compound to the back door of the
bungalow.
The horse, without hesitation and not waiting for direction, took the
short cut. As a general rule the Commissioner chose the longer way. He
preferred entering his own house by the front door; he had designed and
built his home himself and had given much thought to its face and
approach, for, who could tell, might he not some day lead an English
bride up the winding drive?
The Commissioner let the beast have his way: he was amused and, leaning
forward, patted his horse's neck.
As he clattered through the compound he caught sight of some of his
servants conversing with a stranger. There was nothing remarkable in
that, but two things he noticed. One, that his people did not see or
hear him until he was almost abreast of them, and secondly, that the
stranger, a native from the river district, let him pass without the
usual salute.
He rode on and dismounted at the back of the house. A groom took his
horse. A small boy opened the door for him and led him through to the
front hall. The Commissioner dropped into a chair and, after a short
rest, busied himself with getting comfortable.
A shave, followed by a hot bath, a change into "slacks," a light
luncheon, and a pipe. Then he attacked his accumulated mail. He had
scarcely sorted his home from his official letters--the latter could
well wait--when his head house boy came in rather breathless.
"Morena," he said, "what is to-day?"
"What do you mean, the day of the month or of the week, and why do you
ask?"
"Oh no," said the boy, "but what is the number of the day?"
"Tuesday the sixth. Why?"
"It is only that I wanted to know, for has not the Morena been absent
for a great many days?"
"Well, it's the sixth, Tuesday the sixth of September."
"Thank you, Morena."
The boy withdrew.
The Native Commissioner turned to his letters again. His mother had
written pages telling him of his sister's engagement to his oldest
friend; his sister wrote more pages about her happiness; his father
referred to his younger brother at Oxford, to the engagement just
announced, and described the latest strike at some length.
Presently he got up and went out to the verandah to stretch his legs. He
admired his garden and mentally praised his own cunning in setting it
out. The rains had not yet broken but some of the trees were already in
new leaf. What a blaze of colour there would be in a few weeks!
"Morena, what day is it to-day?"
Turning, he met the gaze of a garden labourer who, spade in hand, was
standing slightly in advance of some half a dozen of his fellows.
"The sixth. But why do you ask?"
"It is because black people do not know how to count, and one day with
us is as another."
All returned to their work. A few minutes later the dog boy came with a
litter born during his master's absence. They were a likely looking lot
and the native took personally the remarks passed upon his charge: he
appeared to assume responsibility for their colour, shape and sex.
"Morena, what day is it to-day?"
"Why?"
"See, Morena, I mark each day on a stick; the dogs were born ten days
ago."
"Well, it's the sixth."
"Thank you, Morena."
At sundown the cattle came in. The herdsman came up to the house to
report that the two calves born whilst his master was away on his
journey were heifers, and received a few shillings as a reward for his
good management When bull calves came the cattle herd made many excuses
and neither expected nor received any reward.
"You have done well."
"Thank you, Morena," said the boy, tying the silver in a corner of his
loin cloth. "What is the number of the day to-day?"
Now this was the fourth time the question had been asked. What did it
mean? Could it mean anything of importance and, if so, what?
But the Commissioner decided in his own mind that his people had some
trivial dispute and were appealing to him to settle a knotty point.
Still, he felt a little curious as to what that point might be, but
knowing natives well, concluded that he would hear about it all in good
time.