You should have taken this to the Administrator

"You should have taken this to the Administrator," said Sanders, "and it should bear his signature."
"There's the letter," said the man shortly. "If that's not enough, and the signature of the Secretary of State isn't sufficient, I'm going straight back to England and tell him so."
"You may go to the devil and tell him so," said Sanders calmly; "but you do not pass into these Territories until I have received telegraphic authority from my chief. Bones, take this man to your hut, and let your people do what they can for him." And he turned and walked into the house.
"You shall hear about this," said Mr. Corklan, picking up his baggage.
"This way, dear old pilgrim," said Bones.
"Who's going to carry my bag?"
"Your name escapes me," said Bones, "but, if you'll glance at your visitin' card, you will find the name of the porter legibly inscribed."
Sanders compressed the circumstances into a hundred-word telegram worded in his own economical style.
It happened that the Administrator was away on a shooting trip, and it was his cautious secretary who replied--
"Administration to Sanders.--Duplicate authority here. Let Corklan proceed at own risk. Warn him dangers."
"You had better go along and tell him," said Sanders. "He can leave at once, and the sooner the better."
Bones delivered the message. The man was sitting on his host's bed, and the floor was covered with cigar ash. Worst abomination of all, was a large bottle of whisky, which he had produced from one of his bags, and a reeking glass, which he had produced from Bones's sideboard.
"So I can go to-night, can I?" said Mr. Corklan. "That's all right. Now, what about conveyance, hey?"
Bones had now reached the stage where he had ceased to be annoyed, and when he found some interest in the situation. "What sort of conveyance would you like, sir?" he asked curiously.
(If you can imagine him pausing half a bar before every "sir," you may value its emphasis.)
"Isn't there a steamer I can have?" demanded the man. "Hasn't Sanders got a Government steamer?"
"Pardon my swooning," said Bones, sinking into a chair.
"Well, how am I going to get up?" asked the man.
"Are you a good swimmer?" demanded Bones innocently.
"Look here," said Mr. Corklan, "you aren't a bad fellow. I rather like you."
"I'm sorry," said Bones simply.
"I rather like you," repeated Mr. Corklan. "You might give me a little help."
"It is very unlikely that I shall," said Bones. "But produce your proposition, dear old adventurer."
"That is just what I am," said the other. He bit off the end of another cigar and lit it with the glowing butt of the old one. "I have knocked about all over the world, and I have done everything. I've now a chance of making a fortune. There is a tribe here called the N'gombi. They live in a wonderful rubber country, and I am told that they have got all the ivory in the world, and stacks of rubber hidden away."
Now, it is a fact--and Bones was surprised to hear it related by the stranger--that the N'gombi are great misers and hoarders of elephant tusks. For hundreds of years they have traded ivory and rubber, and every village has its secret storehouse. The Government had tried for years to wheedle the N'gombi into depositing their wealth in some State store, for riches mean war sooner or later. They lived in great forests--the word N'gombi means "interior"--in lands full of elephants and rich in rubber trees.