He hastily returned to his old ward.  ’I don’t deny I could if I wanted,’ said he.  ’But there’s no danger, the natives are all quiet.  You’re just afraid of your life.’

I do not like to be called a coward, even by implication; and here I lost my temper and propounded an untimely ultimatum.  ’You had better put it plain,’ I cried.  ’Do you mean to refuse me what I ask?’

‘I don’t want either to refuse it or grant it,’ he replied.

’You’ll find you have to do the one thing or the other, and right now!’ I cried, and then, striking into a happier vein, ‘Come,’ said I, ’you’re a better sort than that.  I see what’s wrong with you—­ you think I came from the opposite camp.  I see the sort of man you are, and you know that what I ask is right.’

Again he changed ground.  ’If the natives get any drink, it isn’t safe to stop them,’ he objected.

‘I’ll be answerable for the bar,’ I said.  ’We are three men and four revolvers; we’ll come at a word, and hold the place against the village.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about; it’s too dangerous!’ he cried.

‘Look here,’ said I, ’I don’t mind much about losing that life you talk so much of; but I mean to lose it the way I want to, and that is, putting a stop to all this beastliness.’

He talked a while about his duty to the firm; I minded not at all, I was secure of victory.  He was but waiting to capitulate, and looked about for any potent to relieve the strain.  In the gush of light from the bedroom door I spied a cigar-holder on the desk.  ‘That is well coloured,’ said I.

‘Will you take a cigar?’ said he.

I took it and held it up unlighted.  ‘Now,’ said I, ’you promise me.’

’I promise you you won’t have any trouble from natives that have drunk at my place,’ he replied.

‘That is all I ask,’ said I, and showed it was not by immediately offering to try his stock.

So far as it was anyway critical our interview here ended.  Mr. Muller had thenceforth ceased to regard me as an emissary from his rivals, dropped his defensive attitude, and spoke as he believed.  I could make out that he would already, had he dared, have stopped the sale himself.  Not quite daring, it may be imagined how he resented the idea of interference from those who had (by his own statement) first led him on, then deserted him in the breach, and now (sitting themselves in safety) egged him on to a new peril, which was all gain to them, all loss to him!  I asked him what he thought of the danger from the feast.

‘I think worse of it than any of you,’ he answered.  ’They were shooting around here last night, and I heard the balls too.  I said to myself, “That’s bad.”  What gets me is why you should be making this row up at your end.  I should be the first to go.’

It was a thoughtless wonder.  The consolation of being second is not great; the fact, not the order of going—­there was our concern.