“Everything, you young ignoramus. Doesn’t he say something about there being a tide in the affairs of men which, taken at the flood, will lead to fortune?”
“I believe so; but I wish he could point out the tide that would take our live barque safe into Kimberley.”
“Ah, but you see he does not; his works were written for people living in a wet country where there are plenty of rivers and seas. He didn’t know anything about the veldt, and, in fact, he was not very strong in his geography, or he wouldn’t have written about the sea coast of Bohemia.”
“There,” cried West, “you’re getting into one of your long-winded arguments, and I’m waiting to hear your plans!”
“Oh, they are only these!” said Ingleborough very gravely. “Being a poor man and seeing the tide at its height, I thought to myself that there could be no harm in annexing a rogue’s plunder when it is as plain as the nose on one’s face that we have as good a right to it as all the officers and Tommy Atkinses of this brigade. I came to the conclusion that I’d get you to stand in with me on fair halves principle, and go off with the diamonds in that barrel, calling at Kimberley as we go to leave that despatch, and then going on to the Cape, and then home.”
“No, you did not, Ingle,” said West quietly; “so don’t talk bosh! Look, they’re striking tents, inspanning, and getting off.”
“By George! so they are. And hallo! what does this mean—an attack?”
“A battery of Horse Artillery guns,” cried West. “Then we are going on in real earnest.”
“Yes,” said Ingleborough, “and so our friends the Boers will find.”