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"Home is something. Though never so 'umble, ye know, there's no place like home." "Tha's all right," assented the other gaily. "I know a man name' Albert Smith, an' 'e sing that in the jail at Beira. Sing all the night till I stop 'im with a broom. Yais." Mills grunted, and they entered the skoff kia the largest of the huts, sacred to the uses of a dining-room.
I've often thought about you, was his greeting. 'But what have you been doing with yourself? The boy's face he looked boyish still, though no longer girlish was worn. He was very pale, and had blue marks under his eyes. 'I've had a hell of a time, he muttered. 'Well, come and have some skoff, Home said.
Candles, a lantern, matches, gin, a pannikin, a pair of pots, and so on, soon completed the outfit. Packing is generally an interesting operation, and Mills was an expert in it. He forgot most of his perplexity and ill-ease as he adjusted the bundles and measured the commodities. He had the whole of the gear spread out on the floor of the skoff kia when a voice accosted him.
'I've thought over it, and I think you may as well come too. You may be useful, as knowing his ways. He nodded. 'Rather bad about his running out of skoff, isn't it? he asked. 'I wonder if he's out of baccy and just breaking his heart. His plump face was pitiful. 'Don't you fret, I answered. 'It only means he's run out of our food.
In speaking of the performance the Commissioner said: "My guest came to 'skoff' and remained to pray." Whenever you visit a new land you almost invariably discover mental alertness and progressiveness that often put the older civilizations to shame. Let me illustrate. Go to England or France today and you touch the really tragic aftermath of the war.
Julian whistled and turned away moodily, with his hands in his pockets, staring into space. The old man the diviner was talking at large as he gathered the fingers of wood with their rude traceries together. Julian paid little heed to his words and gesticulations when he awoke from his day-dream. 'Give him some skoff and a bit of meat, Jim, he said.
The Lewaniki anecdote reminds me of an admirable epigram that was produced in Rhodesia. Out there food is commonly known as "skoff," just as "chop" is the equivalent in the Congo. A former Resident Commissioner, noted for the keenness of his wit, once asked a travelling missionary to dine with him. After the meal the guest insisted upon holding a religious service at the table.
"Jone," moaned the Frenchman the cords were eating into his flesh "Jone, I saved yo' life." "Why couldn't you tell me?" cried Mills passionately; "why couldn't you trust me? I could ha' got you away." "That'll do," interrupted Dave, thrusting Mills aside. "We'll trouble you for a drink and a bite, old boy, an' then we'll start back." Mills led the way to the skoff kia in silence.
"So I coom out-with-out everything. Just like this." "I can get you a couple of niggers," mused Mills, "an' you'll want a gun. Then, with skoff for a fortnight, you ought to be up at the Mazoe before they find your spoor. What do you think?" "I think i's ver' naice," smiled the other. "I don't know how you feel, but I'm just done up."
The three of them strolled about the camp, showing great interest in everything, asking most intelligent questions about the British forces and the general position of affairs, and seemed really relieved to have a strong British post near. They did not even take offence when some of the rougher men called them "blarsted Dutchmen," and refused to converse with them, or buy their "skoff."
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