Abinger was the next to make a move. His house on the Berea was still open, and in charge of Kykie, but it knew him no more. When he chanced to come to Durban from Johannesburg, where he now chiefly resided, he slept at the club. As he was making himself a last drink, Bramham said:
"Isandhlwana nineteen years ago to-day, Luce!"
The two men looked at each other with friendly eyes. They were not greatly sympathetic, but brave memories shared make a close bond between man and man. Silently both their glasses went upwards in a wordless toast. In a moment and silently, too, Carson was on his feet. They drank to the men who died on Isandhlwana Day. Afterwards, Bramham and Abinger fell into talk about that year. They had both fought in the Zulu war. Carson listened with glinting eyes, the weariness swept from his face for the first time that night. Bramham's face became like a boy's. Abinger's looks changed, too. His sneers were wiped out, and his scar took on the appearance of one that might have been honourably gained. Once he laughed like a rollicking boy.
"That day we lay above Inyezan, Bram ... do you remember? When you potted the big fellow in the umpas tree!... after he had sniped about ten of our men ... by God! the cheek of that brute to perch himself up there within a hundred yards of us!... and no one knew where the shots were coming from ... it was a miracle you spotted him in that thick foliage ... he came down like a fat, black partridge ... and lay still under the tree ... we went and looked at him after the fight was all over, Carson ... he was an enormous chap ... the biggest Zulu I ever saw ... our natives recognised him—chief Gaarons, one of their best leaders ... a sure shot ... he got ten of our men ... but Bram got him all right."
They sat for two solid hours reminiscing.
"You and Luce have had some times together, Charlie!" said Carson, after Abinger had gone.
"Yes ... it makes one feel old—I suppose we are getting on, Karri, but we were in our early twenties those days ... Abinger rather younger than I was, perhaps ... he was a different fellow then, too—of course, it was years before he met that Spanish devil who slashed his face open.... Do you know, Eve, that when I was in London last I saw her dancing in the old, sweet way at the Alhambra?"
"I thought she was dead?"
"So did I—but she wasn't. She is, now, however ... dropped down one night behind the scenes and passed out in half an hour."
"Tant mieux!" said Carson serenely. "She didn't play according to rules. Well, I suppose, we must turn in, Bram—I've a ton of things to do to-morrow ... those cases of guns and ammunition and stuff are due, aren't they?"