“And we’re doing nothing!” sighed West. “Oh, it’s terrible! I must begin to stir, even if it is only to bring about another check.”
“What would be the good of that?”
“Ease to one’s brain!” said West passionately. “Here have I been trusted with this mission and am doing nothing, while all the time the poor fellows at Mafeking must be watching despairingly for the despatch that does not come.”
“Look here, old lad,” said Ingleborough sympathetically; “when a fellow’s chained down hand and foot it’s of no use for him to kick and strain; he only makes his wrists and ankles sore and weakens himself, so don’t do it! Believe me, the proper time to act is when they take you out of your chains! It’s very depressing, I know; but what can’t be cured—”
“Must be endured. I know, Ingle; but here we are prisoners, and I can’t help getting more hopeless.”
“But you must! Things can’t go on like this much longer! Either our troops will come here and attack the Boers, or the Boers will go and attack the British. Just have patience and wait!”
“But here we are, just as we were nearly a week ago, and nothing has happened.”
“Oh yes, something has!” said Ingleborough, with a smile. “I’ve got well again! The first morning I couldn’t have mounted my pony and ridden off even if they had brought it to the end of the wagon here and said: ‘Be off!’ To-day I could jump on and go off at full gallop. Do you call that nothing?”
“No, of course not!” said West. “There, you must forgive me! I’m very discontented, I know; but you see why.”
“To be sure I do! I say, though, you’ve been at that satchel! The sandwiches are gone.”