“I don’t want to escape now.”
“What? You don’t mean to join the Boers as old Fat Face suggested?”
“Why not?” said West dismally. “I dare not go back to Kimberley.”
“You daren’t turn traitor to your country, and, though you feel right down in the dumps, you dare go back to Kimberley and walk straight to the Commandant and speak out like a man, saying: ‘I did my best, sir; but I failed dismally!’”
“Ah!” sighed West.
“And he would reply: ‘Well, it’s a bad job, my lad; but it’s the fortune of war.’”
West held out his hand as he sat there tailor-fashion by his friend in the bottom of the wagon, and there was a warm grip exchanged.
“Bravo, boy! You’re coming round! I knew it. You only wanted time.”
“Thank you, Ingle! Now then, what was your idea of escaping?”
“Oh, a very simple one, but as likely to succeed as to fail.”