“We were only defending ourselves. They struck at us first and without the slightest cause.”
“It is a verodomde lie. You belong to a nation of liars and vipers, allermachtij!” shouted Kruger, savagely, an ominous gurgle coming from his throat, while his right arm began to swing as if about to strike them, and his eyes became buried under the flesh of his upper lids.
Ned bit his lips and remained silently facing this ogre, with flashing looks.
“Ugh!” gurgled the president, controlling his rising temper as suddenly as it had been raised. “I can do all this to you, and no one dare stop me, not even your queen,” he added childishly. “I am master here, and what I will is fate. I can send you to my worst prison, where you will rot all your miserable days. But I can also be kind and merciful to those who deserve my clemency. Now, if you will be good younkers and tell me all that you know, I shall pardon you, and never send you for trial at all—nay, more, I’ll give you each a nice billet, where you can serve the Republic and make your fortune. Now, are you going to be good younkers and give me all your confidence freely, as if I was your father, or your tender-hearted uncle—Oom Paul, you know,” he chuckled unctuously—“or must I send you to rot in the tronk?”
“We are English, your Excellency, and sons of the Empire, not Dutch spies and traitors,” answered Ned, for his companions, proudly and without a pause.
“Then go and—rot!” roared Kruger, bringing his big fist down on the table with a bang that made tobacco-box and Bible jump. “Send these ruffians to the landdrost, and let the law take its course.”
The last our heroes saw, for that time, of the humane president of the Republic, was him puffing furiously at his pipe, with his ugly face distorted and his eyes out of sight.
“I guess he doesn’t like to be contradicted,” said Ned, as the police once more marched them off.