“Why is he not here to-night?”
Swaart Jan shrugged his shoulders and grinned, his two tusks protruding more than ever.
“How do I know, brother? Only we must not forget that his wife is half an Englishwoman.”
“Ah!” said the delegate, who appeared to be struck with the idea.
“Oom Stephanus would not come,” put in a young man reverentially. “That is all I know about it.”
The speaker had been one of the most fervid listeners to the “Patriot’s” discourse, and with much trepidation had lingered behind among his elders, preferring their conversation to the boisterous merriment in the other room.
“It is Stephanus’ nephew, Adrian De la Rey,” said Jan Grobbelaar.
“Ah! a good name. A good name,” declared the delegate. “Bear it worthily, nephew, when the time comes.” Then, turning to the predikant, “We must win over Stephanus De la Rey, Mynheer. We must win him over.”
“He is the only ‘good’ man here whom we have not won,” was the reply, given dubiously.
“Ja, ja!” assented Swaart Jan, shaking his head softly. “Ja, ja! we must win over Stephanus De la Rey.”