“I’ll tell you. You can’t see, but this is what I’m doing. I’ve two slices of bread here, and I’m putting between them something that is not good food for Boers. That’s it. I’ve doubled the pass in half, and stuck it between two slices. If we have the bad luck to be taken prisoners I shall be very hungry, and begin eating the sandwich and the pass. I don’t suppose it will do me any harm.”
“Capital idea,” said Ingleborough, laughing.
“That’s done,” said West, replacing his paper sandwich in his haversack, and a few minutes later, as they still rode slowly on, Ingleborough spoke again.
“What now?” he said.
“Making another sandwich,” was the reply.
“Another?”
“Yes, of the Mafeking despatch.”
“Ah, of course; but you will not eat that?”
“Only in the last extremity.”
“Good,” said Ingleborough, “and I hope we shall have no last extremes.”