He had forgotten his cattle already--the Greeks who stole them--the Masai who stole from the Greeks.

He paid for all he took, to the Jew's extreme surprise and satisfaction, and grumbled at the price of everything, to the Jew's supremest unconcern.
"An' my name's Brown o' Lumbwa, just in proof of all I say!" he informed the room at large at intervals.
When Will had exhausted all the American songs he knew, and Fred had run through his own long list there was nothing left for it but to make up accompaniments to the songs the sergeants had been raised on.

Fred made the happy discovery that none of them knew The Marseillaise, so he played that as an antidote each time after they had made the hard-wood rafters ring and the smoke-filled air vibrate with Teutonic jingoism.
The Jew, who probably knew more than he cared to admit, grew more and more beady-eyed each time The Marseillaise was played.
There was a pause in the proceedings at about ten o'clock, by which time all the sergeants except Schubert were sufficiently drunk to feel thoroughly at ease.

Schubert was cold-eyed sober, although scarcely any longer thirsty.
A native was brought in by two askaris and charged before Schubert with hanging about the boma gate after dark.

He was asked the reason.