After this I put on the best
coat and hat I had, feeling that as an Englishman it was my duty
to look decent on such an occasion, washed, brushed my hair--with
me a ceremony without meaning, for it always sticks up--and
slipped a loaded Smith & Wesson revolver into my inner poacher
pocket. Then I started out to see the fun, and avoiding the
groups of surly-looking Boers, mingled with the crowd that I saw
was gathering in front of a long, low building with a broad
stoep, which I supposed, rightly, to be one of the Government
offices.
Presently I found myself standing by a tall, rather loosely-built
man whose face attracted me. It was clean-shaven and much
bronzed by the sun, but not in any way good-looking; the features
were too irregular and the nose was a trifle too long for good
looks. Still the impression it gave was pleasant and the steady
blue eyes had that twinkle in them which suggests humour. He
might have been thirty or thirty-five years of age, and
notwithstanding his rough dress that consisted mainly of a pair
of trousers held up by a belt to which hung a pistol, and a
common flannel shirt, for he wore no coat, I guessed at once that
he was English-born.
For a while neither of us said anything after the taciturn habit
of our people even on the veld, and indeed I was fully occupied
in listening to the truculent talk of a little party of mounted
Boers behind us. I put my pipe into my mouth and began to hunt
for my tobacco, taking the opportunity to show the hilt of my
revolver, so that these men might see that I was armed.
Pages:
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25