The document reminded him of the pleasant fact that there were three casks of rum to come to him every year.

Besides, he rather liked scratching his royal mark upon the smooth, white paper.

He was quite willing to repeat the performance, and took up the pen which Sam handed him readily.
"Him white man just come," Oom Sam explained; "want see you do this." His Majesty was flattered, and, with the air of one to whom the signing of treaties and concessions is an everyday affair, affixed a thick, black cross upon the spot indicated.
"That all right ?" he asked Oom Sam.
Oom Sam bowed to the ground.
"Him want to know," he said, jerking his head towards Captain Francis, "whether you know what means ?" His forefinger wandered aimlessly down the document.

His Majesty's reply was prompt and cheerful.
"Three barrels of rum a year." Sam explained further.

"There will be white men come digging," he said; "white men with engines that blow, making holes under the ground and cutting trees." The King was interested.