Part 34 (1/2)
With a throb of relief Delport deposits his fare at the hotel and, whipping up his horses, drives at the utmost speed to Mr. Els' house, to warn him of the danger he is in.
Mr. and Mrs. Botha have just retired for the night, when they are aroused by a hurried knock at the front door. They admit two girls, one of them the daughter of Mrs. Els, the other a sister to Mrs.
Naude, both extremely agitated.
Miss Els speaks first:
”Oom Willie, you must please come to our house at once. My father is very ill.”
Oom Willie's heart sinks into his slippers.
This, the long-expected sign that their game is up, has come at last.
He hastens to the home of his friend.
When he learns the truth the case does not seem so hopeless after all and he feels his courage returning.
”We must think of some plan with which to meet the police when they come. Quick! There is not a moment to lose. They may be here at any minute.”
In an incredibly short time the officer's new saddle is buried in a bag of coal, which is again sewn up and thrown into the back-yard, while an old and worthless saddle is produced, Heaven only knows from where, cut up into pieces and placed in a large basin of water on the dining-room table.
”Now, Oom Gerrie,” Mr. Botha says, as soon as he can find his breath, ”you are a shoemaker by trade, and this old saddle has been sent to you by me to make shoes for my children.”
”But you have not got any! and I have never made a shoe in my life!”
”Well, then, for my nieces and nephews. Never mind about your ignorance. When any one comes in, remember you are just on the point of beginning your work. I shall send you an old last when I get home.”
A pocket-knife, a hammer, and a few nails scattered on the table complete the shoemaker's outfit, and there he sits, with trembling hands and spectacles on nose, far into the night, for does he not expect the dreaded knock at his front door before the dawn of another day?
Next morning Oom Willie raps smartly at the door and walks in unceremoniously, to find Oom Gerrie just about to begin his work, as with shaking hand he adjusts his spectacles.
”How is trade this morning?” he asks, with a jolly laugh, as he settles himself on a chair to watch his friend's discomfiture. But Oom Gerrie is not pleased at all. The trade is getting on Oom Gerrie's nerves, and he takes no part in the hilarity around him.
Two days pa.s.s, three, four, and no English officer appears, no search is made for contraband of war in Oom Gerrie's house; but every time the door is opened or a footstep heard on the verandah, Oom Gerrie may be found with one hand plunged in a basin of water, while with the other he adjusts his spectacles.
Poor Oom Gerrie!
He gives up his trade in despair at last, for after all it does not pay, but as long as the old man lives he will be forced to listen to the question:
”How is the boot-making trade?”
CHAPTER XXVI
BITTEN BY OUR OWN DOGS
The events about to be recorded in this chapter have just reminded me of an incident which took place immediately after the occupation of the capital.
An old Kaffir, who had been with the English just before Pretoria was taken, told Mrs. van Warmelo that three Boer men had ridden out on bicycles to the English lines, and held consultation with them--traitors evidently, in secret understanding with the enemy, to whom they took information of some sort.
The old Kaffir wound up his remarks by saying: