“I believe so, sir. At least, his home is in that city,” answered Ned.
“Hum! thanks for this information. Then take my advice, part company with this Stephanus Groblaar as soon as possible, and also—don’t air those Imperial ideas too freely when you are going to Johannesburg. They are not fashionable there at present.”
“I will never hear my nation insulted without resenting it, sir,” replied Ned, boldly.
“Better swallow insult than run the risk of imprisonment.”
“No, sir; I cannot endorse that sentiment.”
“It is the sentiment generally held by the Transvaal Uitlanders.”
“I do not care. It shall never be mine.”
“Nor mine!” “Nor mine!” cried Fred and Clarence in chorus.
“Good lads,” said the stranger, in feeling tones, holding out his large hand to our heroes, who grasped it by turns. “I like you for your pluck and freshness. Tell me your names, so that I may remember them if I can serve you at any time.”
The lads at once produced their cards and presented them. The stranger smiled humorously as he took the paste-boards.