“And what about your horse? That would be enough to betray you.”
“No take Sandho,” said Joeboy, who had been listening attentively.
“Of course not,” I said. “We should walk right across to the Boer lines, getting off as soon as it was dark.”
“Why not go in disguise as a minstrel?” said Denham banteringly—“like King Alfred did when he went to see about the Danes? Have you got a harp, old chap?”
“No,” I said coolly.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, because I don’t believe you could play it. But a banjo would be better for the Doppies, or—I have it—an accordion! Haven’t one in your pocket, I suppose?”
“Why can’t you be serious?” I said.
“I am, old fellow. Banjo, concertina, or accordion, either would do; and if you could sing them one or two of their popular Dutch songs it would be the very thing.”
“Don’t banter,” I said dryly.
“Then don’t you propose impossibilities. There, they are cooking supper again, so let’s get down and see about a bit of—ahem! you know. Whatever it is, we must eat. I almost wish I were a horse, though, and could go out on the veldt and browse on the herbage. Here, I say, I’ve got a far better Utopian scheme than yours.”