Her uncle made a movement as though to interfere, but Sir Robert said something to him which appeared to cause him to change his mind, while the rest in some way or another signified an enthusiastic assent.  All of them were anxious to see this Jeekie and hear his tale, if he had one to tell.  So Jeekie was sent for and presently arrived clad in the dress clothes which are common to all classes in England and America.  There he stood before them white-headed, ebony-faced, gigantic, imperturbable.  There is no doubt that his appearance produced an effect, for it was unusual and indeed striking.

“You sent for me, Major?” he said, addressing his master, to whom he gave a military salute, for he had been Alan’s servant when he was in the Army.

“Yes, Jeekie.  Miss Barbara here and these gentlemen, wish you to tell them all that you know about the Yellow God.”

The negro started and rolled his round eyes upwards till the whites of them showed, then began in his school-book English: 

“That is a private subject, Major, upon which I should prefer not to discourse before this very public company.”

A chorus of remonstrance arose and one of the Jewish gentlemen approaching Jeekie, slipped a couple of sovereigns into his great hand, which he promptly transferred to his pocket without seeming to notice them.

“Jeekie,” said Barbara, “don’t disappoint me.”

“Very well, miss, I fall in with your wishes.  The Yellow God that all these gentlemen worship, quite another god to that of which you desire that I should tell you.  You know all about him.  My god is of female sex.”

At this statement his audience burst into laughter while Jeekie rolled his eyes again and waited till they had finished.  “My god,” he went on presently, “I mean, gentlemen, the god I used to pray to, for I am a good Christian now, has so much gold that she does not care for any more,” and he paused.

“Then what does she care for?” asked someone.

“Blood,” answered Jeekie.  “She is god of Death.  Her name is Little Bonsa or Small Swimming Head; she is wife of Big Bonsa or Great Swimming Head.”

Again there was laughter, though less general—­for instance, neither Sir Robert nor Mr. Champers-Haswell laughed.  This merriment seemed to excite Jeekie.  At any rate it caused him to cease his stilted talk and relapse into the strange vernacular that is common to all negroes, tinctured with a racy slang that was all his own.

“You want to hear Yellow God palaver?” he said rapidly.  “Very well, I tell you, you cocksure white men who think you know everything, but know nothing at all.  My people, people of the Asiki, that mean people of Spirits, what you call ghosts and say you no believe in, but always look for behind door, they worship Yellow God, Bonsa Big and Bonsa Little, worship both and call them one; only Little Bonsa on trip to this country just now and sit and think in City office.  Yellow God live