Next morning Oom Willie raps smartly at the door and walks in unceremoniously, to find Oom Gerrie just about to begin his work, as with shaking hand he adjusts his spectacles.
"How is trade this morning?" he asks, with a jolly laugh, as he settles himself on a chair to watch his friend's discomfiture. But Oom Gerrie is not pleased at all. The trade is getting on Oom Gerrie's nerves, and he takes no part in the hilarity around him.
Two days pass, three, four, and no English officer appears, no search is made for contraband of war in Oom Gerrie's house; but every time the door is opened or a footstep heard on the verandah, Oom Gerrie may be found with one hand plunged in a basin of water, while with the other he adjusts his spectacles.
Poor Oom Gerrie!
He gives up his trade in despair at last, for after all it does not pay, but as long as the old man lives he will be forced to listen to the question:
"How is the boot-making trade?"