Part 11 (1/2)

”Only a few hours ago, and we three were calmly working together,” said West sadly; ”and I looked upon Anson as an unsatisfactory fellow whom I never could like, but whose worst faults were being a cringing kind of bore and a perfect nuisance with his flute.”

”And I as a smooth hypocrite whom one ought not to trust,” said Ingleborough.

”And now he's gone, and we're to have the Boers at us and most likely have to soldier in real earnest. Hallo! Here's Norton back again.”

For there was a quick step outside, and the door was thrown open. But it was not the superintendent's face that met their eyes, for their late fellow-clerk stepped boldly in.

”How are you, gentlemen?” he said, with a strong emphasis upon the last word. ”So I've got the sack; but I'm not going to leave my property behind.”

He stepped to his desk and took out his flute-case, tucked it under his arm, and then drew the sword-cane and umbrella from the stand, giving the pair a maliciously triumphant look.

”Can't afford to leave the sword-stick as a memento for you, Ingle, nor the flute for sneaky West. Goodbye, both of you. Look out for our next merry meeting. Ta, ta!”

Neither of the young men replied, but sat gazing fixedly at the speaker till he pa.s.sed out, banging the door.

But only to open it again to look in and utter the one word: ”Cads!”

Then the door was banged, and West leaped from his stool and made a dash.

”Stop, stupid!” thundered out Ingleborough, supplementing his words by a bound and flinging his arm round his companion's chest. ”Let the brute go. You don't want to kick him?”

”But I do,” shouted West, struggling. ”Let go.”

”Keep still,” growled Ingleborough, and then, ”Why, Noll,” he cried, ”I do believe--”

”What?” said West, cooling down and looking wonderingly in his companion's excited eyes, for Ingleborough had stopped short.

”That flute--that sword-cane--”

”Well, he has got them. Bah! I'm glad you stopped me from punching his head. Let him have them; they're his.”

”Yes,” said Ingleborough; ”but the handle of the cane and the top joint of the flute. There was room for a dozen big diamonds in each.”

”What! Then let's go and stop him!”

”Yes; we could but be wrong. Come on.”

”Hah! Listen,” cried West, and a sound arose which turned their thoughts in a different channel, for it was like the first note of the coming war.

The trumpet rang out the ”a.s.semblee” and thrilled both through and through, sending them to the arm-press for rifle and bandolier.

Clerking was over for many months to come. The pen was to give way to the modern subst.i.tute for the sword.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

VOLUNTEERS VOLUNTEER.

Rumours that proved to be false and rumours that proved to be true were plentiful enough during the following fortnight; and in that time Kimberley was transformed from a busy mining camp in which the black and white inhabitants were constantly going and coming like ants in a hill to a town whose siege was imminent, and whose people thought of nothing but preparing for the enemy, and whose talk was of rifle, cartridge, and trench.

But there was something done beside talk, the people loyally joining with the small military garrison in preparing for the defence of the place; and, while one portion worked to strengthen every spot that would form a redoubt, the other strove as long as was possible to get in stores to enable the defenders to hold out if they were besieged. For the determination was strong to save the enormous wealth of the place from the enemy whose borders were so short a distance from their lines.