Steve was placed at table between a Scotchman and an Englishman. After some conversation on general topics, the Scotchman, who seemed to be a kindly, genial old man, turned to Steve and said,—
‘It is so strange to me that I have met no Boers yet, and here I am in the capital of the land of the Boers. I have been six hours in Pretoria now, and during all that time I have seen no one whom I could recognise as a Boer from the descriptions I have heard and read of them.’
Steve smiled and said,—
‘What is your conception of a Boer? By what description would you recognise him?’
‘Oh, I would easily recognise one if I were to see one. Shall I describe to you what my idea of a Boer is, from reading and hearing him described? Here you are, then. I will begin from the top. Dirty slouch hat; long, greasy, unkempt hair; tangled and untrimmed beard; sly, crafty eyes; a sensual and unclean mouth; dirty and unwashed face; dirty, baggy, ragged clothing; if any shirt at all—dirty; if any shoes at all—made of untanned leather. In short, a Boer is a man uncivilised, untaught, untamed.’
This was said in such an innocent, inoffensive way that Steve took no offence, but only laughed heartily, as if at a good joke.
‘Now, what are you laughing at? Do you mean to say my description is not true? If so, then you must blame those who have written the different descriptions from which I have gathered my ideal of a Boer.’
‘Pardon me, sir; but are you the only stranger in Jerusalem? Where are you from?’
‘I am from Glasgow, Scotland, at your service,’ was the smiling and good-natured reply.
‘But how long have you been out of Glasgow?’