Catching a Thief

Northland Age, Volume 1, Issue 6, 13 November 1931, Page 9

Catching a Thief

Frank was greatly interested in the three house piccanins who did all the work in Uncle Grange’s bungalow on the Rhodesian farm. These chaps were much his own age, for Frank was only thirteen, and had come out for a holiday to Rhodesia because he had had a serious illness in England. Lullamin, the cook, was fifteen: Uncle Grange liked them young. Twopence was first housemaid, aged fourteen ; and his brother, Bicycle, who was second housemaid, was a year younger. They were so unlike English boys, Frank thought, studying them all three one day as they merrily planted some seeds he had brought out from Berkshire in their master’s garden, giggling with pleasure at being all together out of doors. They had happy faces, and were uncommonly good at their jobs. Frank knew very well that he would never have that dexterity of wrist that could waft one vegetable dish after another before the guests. Twopence did it beautifully. And Bicycle cleaned the floors most splendidly, making them shine like mirrors. They loved work, and the funny thing was they wanted to learn English and arithmetic. After their day was over they did not, like English servants, sleep in the house, but went off to their own kraals about half a mile from the bungalow. And there they would take out slates and pencils and listen with great attention to a local teacher, who would often come for an hour and squat down among the huts and instruct them. Then one day Uncle Grange missed two pound notes which he had put in his writing desk drawer, and he confided to Frank : “Bicycle has taken these, towards the bicycle he’s longing to get. I’m sure it must be Bicycle ; I know his little ways.” Frank had been much amused to learn that in South Africa the natives frequently chose to be called by the name of the thing they were longing for. But Bicycle did not seem such a funny name now. Nor did Frank stay in the room while Uncle Grange interviewed all three piccanins, and asked each in turn if he knew anything about the mission money. “They all denied it, of course, and I couldn’t directly accuse Bicycle,” said his uncle after lunch. “But I’ll get at it in my own way.” “I thought they were all such good chaps,” Frank muttered, and began to hunt about for the notes, but in vain. After a time Uncle Grange rang the bell and Bicycle entered in his neat white clothes. Uncle Grange had now got hold of an old piece of The Times newspaper, and hardly looked up. “Wait just a moment. Stand there,” he commanded, and began to fold and refold the newspaper idly, as it were. Bicycle’s great black eyes were fixed with awe on his master’s moving hands. Frank, peeping over his book, could not imagine what his uncle was making; it was not even a paper boat. Presently the Englishman glanced up and broke the silence. “You may go, Bicycle,” said he. Then, rising and tossing away the newspaper, “Come along, Frank, I want to show you the new lot of tobacco they’ve just brought in.” After an hour on the farm they reentered the sittingroom. Uncle Grange went to his deck. The two pound notes lay there exactly where he had put them. Bicycle had been frightened by the simple folding of a paper, had considered it magic, and his fear made him give up his spoil. What a strange way of arguing, thought Frank. “I never did like learning geography at school, Uncle,” said he, that evening, after much pondering. “But there are lots of things to be learned about other youngsters in other lands, aren’t there?”