Mumbo-jumbo, thought Mr. Heard.

Yet he looked without wincing at the caricature of Christianity.  It was like an act in a pantomime.  He had seen funnier things in Africa.  Among the Bitongos, for instance.  They would have enjoyed this procession, the Bitongos.  They were Christians; had taken to the Gospel like ducks to the water; wore top-hats at Easter.  But liars—­such dreadful liars!  Just the reverse of the M’tezo.  Ah, those M’tezo!  Incurable heathen.  He had given them up long ago.  Anyhow, they despised lying.  They filed their teeth, ate their superfluous female relations, swopped wives every new moon, and never wore a stitch of clothes.  A man who appeared among the M’tezo in a fig-leaf would find himself in the cooking-pot within five minutes.

How they attached themselves to his heart, those black fellows.  Such healthy animals!  This spectacle, he discovered, was rather like Africa—­the same steamy heat, the same blaring noises, dazzling light, and glowing colours; the same spirit of unconquerable playfulness in grave concerns.

And the Bumbulis, the Kubangos, the Mugwambas!  And the Bulanga—­that tribe whom Mr. Keith seemed to know so well!  Really, the Bulanga were the worst of the lot.  Not fit to be talked about.  And yet, somehow or other, one could not help liking them. . . .

“Good morning, Bishop!” said a voice at his side.  It was Mr. Keith.  He looked well washed and chubby in his spotless white clothes.  Accompanying him was a friend in grey flannels whom he presently introduced as Mr. Eames.  “Hope you slept well,” he went on.  “And how do you like the procession?  You are doing quite the right thing in attending.  Oh, quite.  That is why I am here, though I don’t much fancy these ceremonies.  One ought to conform to custom.  Well, what are you thinking?”

“I was thinking of Africa, and the pain which the natives will endure for what they call their pleasures.  I wonder how much those men are paid for carrying that statue?  They perspire pretty freely.”

“They are paid nothing.  They pay, themselves, a heavy sum for the privilege.”

“You surprise me!”

“They have remission of sins; they can be as naughty as ever they like for a twelvemonth afterwards.  That is a consideration.  I will tell you something else about that idol.  It is five hundred years old—­”

“Oh, come!” interposed Mr. Eames, in a tone of gentle remonstrance.  “The saint was cast exactly eighty-two years ago; they used to have a wooden one before that time.  Anybody can see from the workmanship—­”