“I am happy to say that she has quite recovered from the effects of her exhaustion and her wetting,” said Colonel Gerald. “Had you not been near, and had you not had that brave heart you showed, my daughter would have been lost. But I need not say anything to you—you know how I feel.”
“We may take it for granted,” said the man.
“Nothing that either of us could say would make it plainer, at any rate. You don't live in this city, General?”
“No, I live near Cape Town, where I am now returning with my daughter,” said Colonel Gerald.
“That's queer,” said the man. “Here am I too not living here and just waiting to get the post-cart to bring me to Cape Town.”
“I need scarcely say that I should be delighted if you would accept a seat with me,” remarked the colonel.
“Don't say that if there's not a seat to spare, General.”
“But, my dear sir, we have two seats to spare. Can I tell my man to put your portmanteau in?”
“Yes, if he can find it,” laughed the stranger. “Fact is, General, I haven't any property here except this tweed suit two sizes too small for me now. But these trousers have got pockets, and the pockets hold a good many sovereigns without bursting. I mean to set up a portmanteau in Cape Town. Yes, I'll take a seat with you so far.”
The stranger was scarcely the sort of man Colonel Gerald would have chosen to accompany him under ordinary circumstances, but now he felt towards the rough man who had saved the life of his daughter as he would towards a brother.