‘Oh, within a thousand miles of Johannesburg?’
The Jews laughed as if this was a very good joke. They were confident of getting round this stupid old Boer.
‘Will mijnheer not have a drink—whisky, prandy, or gin, whatever you like?’
‘No, thank you. We do not drink strong drink,’ interfered Steve. They had not touched the refreshments supplied by the Jews.
‘What is mijnheer’s name?’ continued Jew No. 2.
‘Hans?’
‘Yes; put Hans what?—your family name, I mean?’
‘Oh, just Hans; that is enough for you,’ said Oom Hans, laughing. The eagerness of the Jews amused him.
‘Well, look here, Mijnheer Hans, what will you take for your farm?’
‘Nothing?’