As she approached the garage, Charlie emerged from the inspection pit, wiping oil off his hands.

“So, Mma Ramotswe,” he called out as she approached. “Has your old van broken down at last? Do you want me to take the boss's truck to fetch it?”

Mma Ramotswe frowned. “There is nothing wrong. I have simply decided to walk to work. It is better to walk, you know.”

Charlie looked at her incredulously. “It is better to walk, you say Mma?”

“Yes, Charlie, that is what I said. And you two could do to walk a bit more.”

“I am always walking, Mma,” said the younger apprentice, who had appeared behind Charlie. “I walk over two kilometres to the bus stop every day.”

“That is very good, Fanwell,” said Mma Ramotswe. “You are not lazy.”

“Nor am I,” interjected Charlie. “I may not walk very much, but why walk if God has given us cars and buses? What's the point?”

Mma Ramotswe took a handkerchief out of her pocket and mopped her brow. “Exercise,” she said. “That's the point.”

Charlie sniggered. “I get a lot of exercise, Mma. I get plenty of exercise by dancing with girls. One, two, three! Like that. That is very good exercise.”

The younger apprentice looked at Charlie with surprise. “Is that true, Charlie?”

“Of course it's not true. Nothing he says is true.” It was the voice of Mma Makutsi, who had appeared in the office doorway, holding out a mug of tea to Mma Ramotswe.

Mma Ramotswe took the mug gratefully. “I am very thirsty, Mma,” she said. “It is kind of you to have this ready for me.”

“If you drove,” said Charlie, “then you wouldn't feel so thirsty. It is too hot to walk.”

“But not too hot to dance?” snapped Mma Makutsi.

Charlie did not reply, but Mma Ramotswe heard him whisper to Fanwell: “Who would dance with her? Nobody. Only that Phuti Radiphuti, and his feet are like elephants' feet. Big dancer. Hot steps.”

Fortunately, Mma Makutsi had gone back into the office and did not hear this remark. Mma Ramotswe gave Charlie a reproachful look. “You should not say things like that, Charlie. It is not kind.”

“She says things about me,” the apprentice replied.

Mma Ramotswe sighed. “You will learn one day, maybe soon, that what others do is never an excuse. Have you not heard of turning the other cheek?”

Charlie was unrepentant. “I have not heard of that.”

Mma Ramotswe began to explain, but could tell that what she said was falling on deaf ears.

“I would never do that,” said Charlie. “It would be very foolish, Mma Ramotswe. You show your other cheek and, whack, they hit you on that one too.”

CHAPTER THREE

THE BEAUTIFUL GAME

HE IS HERE NOW,” said Mma Makutsi, peering out of the window. “That is his car.”

Mma Ramotswe made a conscious effort not to look up from her desk. “I take it that it is a Mercedes-Benz, Mma,” she muttered.