‘Come and look for yourself.’
Steve looked, and there the Jew was standing on the stoep, waiting for an answer to his knock. Steve remembered the hoof-strokes he had heard behind him. He saw that the Jew had been watching and following him.
‘Oom Hans, I give you my word of honour that what I told you was the truth, and that I know nothing of the Jew’s being here, except that I think the knave has been following me without my knowledge.’
Steve’s voice and manner conveyed the truth of what he was saying to Oom Hans. He was believed. This made the old man all the angrier with the Jew.
He went to the door, opened it, and looked at the Jew. The Jew flew towards him with open arms, and an angelic smile of affection on his face.
‘Oh, mine frint, how I have wished for you,’ and the Jew went on in a flow of affectionate terms.
Oom Hans coldly waved him off, and said, ‘Wait a moment.’ He went in again, closing the door after him. He went to a shelf, took down a rusty old elephant gun, as large as a young cannon. He poured about a quarter of loose gunpowder down the capacious barrel, rammed down half a newspaper by way of a plug, and went out again, putting on as severe a face as he could.
Steve came out now and took Oom Hans by the arm, saying,—
‘For God’s sake, Oom, don’t shoot the man!’
‘Be quiet, you fool!’ roared Oom Hans, and turning round, he winked at Steve, giving him a momentary smile to reassure him. Steve saw that it was only going to be a farce, and not a tragedy, as he at first feared.