The Colonial raised his head; and without taking his elbows from the ground
took up the bird. "I'll put it into the pot; it'll give it the flavour of
something except weevily mealies"; he said, and fell to plucking it.

The Englishman took his hat off, and lifted the fine damp hair from his
forehead.

"Knocked up, eh?" said the Colonial, glancing kindly up at him. 'I've a
few drops in my flask still."

"Oh, no, I can stand it well enough. It's only a little warm." He gave a
slight cough, and laid his head down sideways on his arm. His eyes watched
mechanically the Colonial's manipulation of the bird. He had left England
to escape phthisis; and he had gone to Mashonaland because it was a place
where he could earn an open-air living, and save his parents from the
burden of his support.

"What's Halket doing over there?" he asked suddenly, raising his head.

"Weren't you here this morning?" asked the Colonial. "Didn't you know
they'd had a devil of a row?"

"Who?" asked the Englishman, half raising himself on his elbows.

"Halket and the Captain." The Colonial paused in the plucking. "My God,
you never saw anything like it!"

The Englishman sat upright now, and looked keenly over the bushes where
Halket's bent head might be seen as he paced to and fro.