‘Oh, nothing, Mijnheer. Only I thought Mijnheer Silas Prinsloo must be living here, who, I have been told, would be kind enough to sell us some forage for our horses.’
‘I don’t keep forage for every cheating Jew of a Smouse who may come to cheat me. You had better go; I don’t want to buy anything, and my dogs are very Kwaai (fierce).’
‘We are not Smouses, Mijnheer, we are going to the bush veld for a little shooting and want to buy a few bundles of oats for our poor tired horses.’
‘And what may your name be?’ he asked, still suspecting.
‘Stephaans Joubert, Mijnheer.’
‘From where do you come?’
‘From Pretoria.’
‘Where were you born?’
‘At G——, Cape Colony.’
‘At G——, Cape Colony? That is where my parents come from, and my great grandmother was a Joubert. We must be related then, surely?’