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the customer waiting for days and days like some garages do. We turn the job round quickly, and carefully, too, as I keep having to tell you.”
    “Some people like speedy cars,” chipped in the other apprentice. “There are some people who like to go fast.”
    “That may be so,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “But not everyone is like that. There are some people who know that going fast is not always the best way of getting there, is it? It is better to be
late
than
the
late, is it not?”
    The apprentices had stared at him uncomprehendingly, and he had sighed; again, it was the fault of the Ministry of Education and their modern ideas. These two boys would never be able to understand half of what he said. And one of these days they were going to have a bad accident.
     
    HE DROVE out to the orphan farm, pressing vigorously on his horn, as he always did, when he arrived at the gate. He enjoyed his visits for more than one reason. He liked to see the children, of course, and he usually brought a fistful of sweets which he would distribute when they came flocking round him. But he also liked seeing Mrs Silvia Potokwane, who was the matron in charge. She had been a friend of his mother’s, and he had known her all his life. For this reason it was natural that he should take on the task of fixing any machinery which needed attending to, as well as maintaining the two trucks and the battered old minibus which served as the farm’s transport. He was not paid for this, but that was not to be expected. Everybody helped the orphan farm if they could, and he would not have accepted payment had it been pressed on him.
    Mma Potokwane was in her office when he arrived. She leaned out of the window and beckoned him in.
    “Tea is ready, Mr J.L.B. Matekoni,” she called. “There will be cake too, if you hurry.”
    He parked his truck under the shady boughs of a monkey-bread tree. Several children had already appeared, and skipped along beside him as he made his way to the office block.
    “Have you children been good?” asked Mr J.L.B. Matekoni, reaching into his pockets.
    “We have been very good children,” said the oldest child. “We have been doing good things all week. We are tired out now from all the good things we have been doing.”
    Mr J.L.B. Matekoni chuckled. “In that case, you may have some sweets.”
    He handed a fistful of sweets over to the oldest child, who received them politely, with both hands extended, in the proper Botswana fashion.
    “Do not spoil those children,” shouted Mma Potokwane from her window. “They are very bad children, those ones.”
    The children laughed and scampered off, while Mr J.L.B. Matekoni walked through the office door. Inside, he found Mma Potokwane, her husband, who was a retired policeman, and a couple of the housemothers. Each had a mug of tea and a plate with a piece of fruitcake on it.
    Mr J.L.B. Matekoni sipped on his tea as Mma Potokwane told him about the problems they were having with one of their borehole pumps. The pump was overheating after less than half an hour’s use and they were worried that it would seize up altogether.
    “Oil,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “A pump without oil gets hot. There must be a leak. A broken seal or something like that.”
    “And then there are the brakes on the minibus,” said Mr Potokwane. “They make a very bad noise now.”
    “Brake pads,” said Mr J.L.B. Matekoni. “It’s about time we replaced them. They get so much dust in them in this weather and it wears them down. I’ll take a look, but you’ll probably have to bring it into the garage for the work to be done.”
    They nodded, and the conversation moved to events at the orphan farm. One of the orphans had just been given a job and would be moving to Francistown to take it up. Another orphan had received a pair of running shoes from a Swedish donor who sent gifts from time to time. He was the best runner on the farm and now he would be able to enter in competitions.