tobolaka, the king of the isisi, was appointed for his virtues, being a christian and a bachelor of arts.

for a time he ruled his country wisely and might have died full of honour, but his enthusiasm got the better of him.

for tobolaka had been taken to america when a boy by an enthusiastic baptist, had been educated at a college and had lectured in america and england. he wrote passable latin verse, so i am told; was a fluent exponent of the free silver policy of mr. bryan, and wore patent leather shoes with broad silk laces.

in london he attracted the attention of a callow under-secretary of state for the colonies, and this under-secretary was a nephew of the prime minister, cousin of the minister of war, and son-in-law of the lord chancellor, so he had a pull which most under-secretaries do not ordinarily possess.

"mr. tobolaka," said the under-secretary, "what are your plans?"

mr. tobolaka was a little restrained.

"i feel, mr. cardow," he said, "that my duties lie in my land—no, i do not mean that i have any call to missionary work, but rather to administration. i am, as you know of the isisi people—we are a pure bantu stock, as far as legend supports that contention—and i have often thought, remembering that the isisi are the dominant race, that there are exceptional opportunities for an agglomeration of interests; in fact——"

"a splendid idea—a great idea!" said the enthusiastic under-secretary.

now it happened that this young mr. cardow had sought for years for some scheme which he might further to his advantage. he greatly desired, after the fashion of all budding parliamentarians, to be associated with a movement which would bring kudos and advertisement in its train, and which would earn for him the approval or the condemnation of the press, according to the shade of particular opinion which the particular newspapers represented.

so in the silence of his room in whitehall court, he evolved a grand plan which he submitted to his chief. that great man promised to read it on a given day, and was dismayed when he found himself confronted with forty folios of typewritten matter at the very moment when he was hurrying to catch the 10.35 to the cotswold golf links.

"i will read it in the train," he said.

he crammed the manuscript into his bag and forgot all about it; on his return to town he discovered that by some mischance he had left the great scheme behind.

nevertheless, being a politician and resourceful, he wrote to his subordinate.

"dear cardow,—i have read your valuable document with more than ordinary interest. i think it is an excellent idea,"—he knew it was an idea because cardow had told him so—"but i see many difficulties. mail me another copy. i should like to send it to a friend of mine who would give me an expert opinion."

it was a wily letter, but indiscreet, for on the strength of that letter the under-secretary enlisted the sympathies and practical help of his chief's colleagues.

"here we have a native and an educated native," he said impressively, "who is patriotic, intelligent, resourceful. it is a unique opportunity—a splendid opportunity. let him go back to his country and get the threads together."

the conversation occurred in the prime minister's room, and there were present three ministers of the crown, including a home secretary, who was frankly bored, because he had a scheme of his own, and would much rather have discussed his artisans' tenement (19—) bill.

"isn't there a commissioner sanders in that part of the world?" he asked languidly. "i seem to remember some such name. and isn't there likely to be trouble with the minor chiefs if you set up a sort of central african emperor?"

"that can be overcome," said the sanguine cardow. "as for sanders, i expect him to help. a dynasty established on the isisi river might end all the troubles we have had there."

"it might end other things," said the impatient home secretary. "now about this tenement bill. i think we ought to accept cronk's amendment—er——"

a few weeks later mr. tobolaka was summoned to whitehall court.

"i think, mr. tobolaka," said cardow complacently, "i have arranged for a trial of our plan. the government has agreed—after a tough fight with the permanent officials, i admit—to establish you on the isisi as king and overlord of the isisi, ochori, n'gombi, and akasava. they will vote you a yearly allowance, and will build a house in isisi city for you. you will find mr. sanders—er—difficult, but you must have a great deal of patience."

"sir," said mr. tobolaka, speaking under stress of profound emotion, "i'm e-eternally obliged. you've been real good to me, and i guess i'll make good."

between the date of tobolaka's sailing and his arrival sanders ordered a palaver of all chiefs, and they came to meet him in the city of the isisi.

"chiefs and headmen," said sanders, "you know that many moons ago the isisi people rose in an evil moment and made sacrifice contrary to the law. so i came with my soldiers and took away the king to the village of irons, where he now sits. because the isisi are foolish people, my government sets up a new king, who is tobolaka, son of yoka'n'kema, son of ichulomo, the son of tibilino."

"lord," gasped an isisi headman, "this tobolaka i remember. the god-folk took him away to their own land, where he learnt to be white."

"yet i promise you that he is black," said sanders drily, "and will be blacker. also, chiefs of the ochori, n'gombi, and akasava, this new king will rule you, being paramount king of these parts, and you shall bring him presents and tribute according to custom."

there was an ominous silence.

then o'kara, the chief of the akasava, an old and arrogant man, spoke:

"lord," he said, "many things have i learnt, such as mysteries and devil magic, yet i have not learnt in my life that the akasava pay tribute to the isisi, for, lord, in the year of the floods, the akasava fought with the isisi and made them run; also, in the year of the elephants, we defeated the isisi on land and water, and would have sat down in their city if your lordship had not come with guns and soldiers and tempted us to go home."

the akasava headmen murmured their approval.

"alas," said the chief of the n'gombi, "we people of the n'gombi are fierce men, and often have we made the isisi tremble by our mighty shouts. now i should be ashamed to bring tribute to tobolaka."

the palaver waited for bosambo of the ochori to speak, but he was silent, for he had not grasped the bias of the commissioner's mind. other men spoke at length, taking their cue from their chiefs, but the men of the ochori said nothing.

"for how was i to speak?" said bosambo, after the palaver. "no man knows how your lordship thinks."

"you have ears," said sanders, a little irritated.

"they are large," admitted bosambo, "so large that they hear your beautiful voice, but not so long that they hear your lordship's loving thoughts."

sanders's thoughts were by no means loving, and they diminished in beauty day by day as the ship which carried tobolaka to his empire drew nearer.

sanders did not go down to the beach to meet him; he awaited his coming on the verandah of the residency, and when tobolaka arrived, clad from head to foot in spotless white, with a helmet of exact colonial pattern on his head, sanders swore fluently at all interfering and experimenting governments.

"mr. sanders, i presume?" said tobolaka in english, and extended his hand.

"chief," said sanders in the isisi tongue, "you know that i am sandi, so do not talk like a monkey; speak rather in the language of your people, and i will understand you better—also you will understand me."

it so happened that tobolaka had prepared a dignified little speech, in the course of which he intended congratulating sanders on the prosperity of the country, assuring him of whole-hearted co-operation, and winding up with an expression of his wishes that harmonious relation should exist between himself and the state.

it was founded on a similar speech delivered by king peter of servia on his assuming the crown. but, unfortunately, it was in english, and the nearest isisi equivalent for congratulation is an idiomatic phrase which literally means, "high-man-look-kindly-on-dog-slave-who-lies-at-feet." and this, thought tobolaka, would never do at all, for he had come to put the commissioner in his place.

sanders condescended to talk english later when tobolaka was discussing cabinet ministers.

"i shall—at the premier's request—endeavour to establish district councils," he said. "i think it is possible to bring the native to a realisation of his responsibility. as cicero said——"

"do not bother about cicero," said sanders coldly. "it is not what cicero said, but what bosambo will say: there are philosophers on this river who could lose the ancients."

tobolakat in a canoe sent for him by the isisi folk, went to his new home. he hinted broadly that a state entrance in the zaire would be more in keeping with the occasion.

"and a ten-gun salute, i suppose!" snarled sanders in isisi. "get to your land, chief, before i lose my patience, for i am in no mood to palaver with you."

tobolaka stopped long enough at headquarters to write privately to the admirable mr. cardow, complaining that he had received "scant courtesy" at the hands of the commissioner. he had shown "deplorable antagonism." the letter concluded with respectful wishes regarding mr. cardow's health, and there was a postscript, significant and ominous to the effect that the writer hoped to cement the good feeling which already existed between great britain and the united states of america by means which he did not disclose.

the excellent mr. cardow was frankly puzzled by the cryptic postscript, but was too much occupied with a successful vote of censure on the government which had turned him into the cold shades of opposition to trouble to reply.

tobolaka came to his city and was accorded a rapturous welcome by a people who were prepared at any given hour of the day or night to jubilate over anything which meant dances and feasts.

he sat in the palaver house in his white duck suit and his white helmet, with a cavalry sword (this sanders had not seen) between his knees, his white-gloved hands resting on the hilt.

and he spoke to the people in isisi, which they understood, and in english, which they did not understand, but thought wonderful. he also recited as much of the "iliad" as he could remember, and then, triumphant and a little hoarse, he was led to the big hut of chieftainship, and was waited upon by young girls who danced for his amusement.

sanders heard of these things and more.

he learnt that the isisi were to be ruled in european fashion. to tobolaka came cala, a sycophantic old headman from the village of toroli, with soft and oily words. him the king promoted to be minister of justice, though he was a notorious thief. mijilini, the fisher chief, tobolaka made his minister of war; he had a home secretary, a minister of agriculture, and a fishery commissioner.

sanders, steaming up-river, was met by the canoe of limibolo, the akasava man, and his canoe was decorated with clothes and spears as for a wedding.

"lord," said the dignified limibolo, "i go to my village to hold a palaver, for my lord the king has called me by a certain name which i do not understand, but it has to do with the hanging of evil men, and, by iwa! i know two men in my village who owe me salt, and they shall hang at once, by death!"

"then will i come and you shall hang also!" said sanders cheerlessly. "be sure of that."

it transpired that the light-hearted limibolo had been created sheriff.

tobolaka was on the point of raising an army for his dignity, when sanders came upon the scene.

he arrived without warning, and tobolaka had no opportunity for receiving him in the state which the king felt was due equally to himself and to the representative of government.

but he had ample time to come to the beach to greet the commissioner according to custom. instead, he remained before his hut and sent his minister in attendance, the ignoble cala.

"o cala!" said sanders as he stepped ashore across the zaire's narrow gangway, "what are you in this land?"

"lord," said cala, "i am a great catcher of thieves by order of our lord; also, i check evil in every place."

"o ko!" said sanders offensively, "now since you are the biggest thief of all, i think you had best catch yourself before i catch you."

he walked through isisi city.

the king had been busy. rough boards had been erected at every street corner.

there was a "downing street," a "fifth avenue," a "sacramento street," a "piccadilly," and a "broadway."

"these," explained cala, "are certain devil marks which my king has put up to warn witches and spirits, and they have much virtue, for, lord, my son, who was troubled with pains in his stomach, as there"—he indicated "broadway"—"and the pain left him."

"it would," said sanders.

tobolaka rose from his throne and offered his hand.

"i am sorry, mr. sanders," he began, "you did not give us notice of your coming."

"when i come again, tobolaka," said sanders, staring with his passionate grey eyes at the white-clad figure, "you shall come to the beach to meet me, for that is the custom."

"but not the law," smiled the king.

"my custom is the law," said sanders. he dropped his voice till it was so soft as to be little above a whisper.

"tobolaka," he said, "i hanged your father and, i believe, his father. now i tell you this—that you shall play this king game just so long as it amuses your people, but you play it without soldiers. and if you gather an army for whatever purpose, i shall come and burn your city and send you the way of your ancestors, for there is but one king in this land, and i am his chief minister."

the face of the king twitched and his eyes fell.

"lord," he said, using the conventional "iwa" of his people, "i meant no harm. i desired only to do honour to my wife."

"you shall honour her best," said sanders, "by honouring me."

"cicero says——" began tobolaka in english.

"damn cicero!" snapped sanders in the same language.

he stayed the day, and tobolaka did his best to make reparation for his discourtesy. towards evening sanders found himself listening to complaints. tobolaka had his troubles.

"i called a palaver of all chiefs," he explained, "desiring to inaugurate a system analogous to county councils. therefore i sent to the akasava, the n'gombi, and the ochori, their chiefs. now, sir," said the injured tobolaka, relapsing into english, "none of these discourteous fellows——"

"speak in the language of the land, tobolaka," said sanders wearily.

"lord, no man came," said the king; "nor have they sent tribute. and i desired to bring them to my marriage feast that my wife should be impressed; and, since i am to be married in the christian style, it would be well that these little chiefs should see with their eyes the practice of god-men."

"yet i cannot force these chiefs to your palaver, tobolaka," said sanders.

"also, lord," continued the chief, "one of these men is a mohammedan and an evil talker, and when i sent to him to do homage to me he replied with terrible words, such as i would not say again."

"you must humour your chiefs, king," said sanders, and gave the discomfited monarch no warmer cheer.

sanders left next day for headquarters, and in his hurry forgot to inquire further into the forthcoming wedding feast.

"and the sooner he marries the better," he said to the houssa captain. "nothing tires me quite so much as a europeanised-americanised native. it is as indecent a spectacle as a niggerised white man."

"he'll settle down; there's no stake in a country like a wife," said the houssa. "i shouldn't wonder if he doesn't forget old man cicero. which chief's daughter is to be honoured?"

sanders shook his head.

"i don't know, and i'm not interested. he might make a good chief—i'm prejudiced against him, i admit. as likely as not he'll chuck his job after a year if they don't 'chop' him—they're uncertain devils, these akasavas. civilisation has a big big call for him; he's always getting letters from england and america."

the houssa captain bit off the end of a cigar.

"i hope he doesn't try cicero on bosambo," he said significantly.

the next day brought the mail—an event.

usually sanders was down on the beach to meet the surf-boat that carries the post, but on this occasion he was interviewing two spies who had arrived with urgent news.

therefore he did not see the passenger whom the castle queen landed till she stood on the stoep before the open door of the residency.

sanders, glancing up as a shadow fell across the wooden stoep, rose and temporarily dismissed the two men with a gesture.

then he walked slowly to meet the girl.

she was small and pretty in a way, rather flushed by the exertion of walking from the beach to the house.

her features were regular, her mouth was small, her chin a little weak. she seemed ill at ease.

"how do you do?" said sanders, bewildered by the unexpectedness of the vision. he drew a chair for her, and she sank into it with a grateful little smile, which she instantly checked, as though she had set herself an unpleasant task and was not to be conciliated or turned aside by any act of courtesy on his part.

"and exactly what brings you to this unlikely place?" he asked.

"i'm millie tavish," she said. "i suppose you've heard about me?"

she spoke with a curious accent. when she told him her name he recognised it as scottish, on which american was imposed.

"i haven't heard about you," he said. "i presume you are going up-country to a missionary station. i'm sorry—i do not like lady missionaries in the country."

she laughed a shrill, not unmusical laugh.

"oh, i guess i'm not a missionary," she said complacently. "i'm the queen."

sanders looked at her anxiously. to women in his country he had conscientious objections; mad women he barred.

"i'm the queen," she repeated, evidently pleased with the sensation she had created. "my! i never thought i should be a queen. my grandfather used to be a gardener of queen victoria's before he came to n'york——"

"but——" said the staggered commissioner.

"it was like this," she rattled on. "when toby was in philadelphia at the theological seminary i was a help at miss van houten's—that's the boarding house—an' toby paid a lot of attention to me. i thought he was joshin' when he told me he was going to be a king, but he's made good all right. and i've written to him every week, and he's sent me the money to come along——"

"toby?" said sanders slowly. "who is toby?"

"mr. tobolaka—king tobolaka," she said.

a look of horror, which he did not attempt to disguise, swept over the face of the commissioner.

"you've come out to marry him—a black man?" he gasped.

the girl flushed a deep red.

"that's my business," she said stiffly. "i'm not asking advice from you. say, i've heard about you—your name's mud along this old coast, but i'm not afraid of you. i've got a permit to go up the isisi, and i'm goin'."

she was on her feet, her arms akimbo, her eyes blazing with anger, for, womanlike, she felt the man's unspoken antagonism.

"my name may be mud," said sanders quietly, "and what people say about me doesn't disturb my sleep. what they would say about me if i'd allowed you to go up-country and marry a black man would give me bad nights. miss tavish, the mail-boat leaves in an hour for sierra leone. there you will find a steamer to take you to england. i will arrange for your passage and see that you are met at southampton and your passage provided for new york."

"i'll not go," she stormed; "you don't put that kind of bluff on me. i'm an american citizeness and no dud british official is going to boss me—so there!"

sanders smiled.

he was prepared to precipitate matters now to violate treaties, to create crises, but he was not prepared to permit what he regarded as an outrage. in turn she bullied and pleaded; she even wept, and sanders's hair stood on end from sheer fright. to make the situation more difficult, a luxurious isisi canoe with twenty paddlers had arrived to carry her to the city, and the headman in charge had brought a letter from her future lord welcoming her in copper-plate english. this letter sanders allowed the man to deliver.

in the end, after a hasty arrangement, concluded by letter with the captain of the boat, he escorted millie tavish to the beach.

she called down on his head all the unhappiness her vocabulary could verbalise; she threw with charming impartiality the battle of bannockburn and bunker's hill at his stolid british head. she invoked the shades of washington and william wallace.

"you shall hear of this," she said as she stepped into the surf-boat. "i'm going to tell the story to every paper."

"thank you!" said sanders, his helmet in his hand. "i feel i deserve it."

he watched the boat making a slow progress to the ship and returned to his bungalow.