“They are a nation in the making,” Matheson rejoined, thinking of Nel’s words. “They are going to be a power in the country.”
“Why not? There’s room for all of us under the one flag.”
Matheson was silent for a while, thinking. Presently he said:
“There’s ill work—underhand work going on. I’ve come in touch with it. There’s a German I know, who passes for an Englishman, who is deliberately fostering the spirit of rebellion among the Boers.”
“I dare say. The Germans played dirty tricks with the Boers during the late war. But if it came to a head,” Macfarlane answered comfortably, “it would be only a half-hearted rebellion. That spirit isn’t general.”
“No. But it has crossed my mind to wonder whether there is something behind this—something we aren’t expecting. Europe seems settled and peaceably inclined, but... Suppose there should be something brewing?”
Macfarlane sat up and looked at him queerly.
“It’s odd you should say that,” he remarked. “It was only last week Aplin was commenting on the German exodus from Port Elizabeth. For the past two years they have been leaving for Europe, all the influential Germans. They have any amount of German firms there, and the beggars are all clearing out.” He laughed suddenly. “Oh, rats!” he cried. “You are making me fanciful. I should advise you to quit staying on Dutch farms. You stick to engineering, my boy, and give over philosophising on love and war.”
“I’m going to talk with Aplin about this,” Matheson said. “I’d like to hear what he has to say.”
“Oh! he’ll play up to you all right. There’s a German round his way who puts his back up with his incessant peace talk. He has ideas for a federation of nations to enforce peace on the world. That idea, according to Aplin, is aggressive; no principle can be peaceful that needs to be enforced.”