S. O. "Forty pounds, sir."
B. "What would you think is the value of this one?"
S. O. "Thirty-nine pounds ten shillings, sir!"
B. "I think that you are right to within a few pence. Make out a receipt for it, and then come and have breakfast. Here, Mr Intelligence, tell my servant to put the ponies into this cart. Now I call that a suitable conveyance for a general officer. I have never had a decent cart since I've commanded a column. In fact, I have almost been ashamed to sign myself as O.C. of a brigade, when my sole possession has been a broken-down Cape cart with only one spring. Self-respect is half the battle in the success of life. With a cart like that I shall be able to insult with a light heart every column commander with whom I am told to co-operate. Look here, Mr Intelligence; I am going to be a real live brigadier in future. Just you get me the regalia in Britstown—a pink flag and red lantern. I don't see why—but what do you want——?"
A howl had set up in chorus from the family on the verandah of the farm, and old Oom Jan came sidling up to the brigadier hat in hand.
Oom Jan. "But the commandant won't take my cart?"
Brigadier. "Dear me! no—no commandant will take your cart."
O. J. "But see, they are putting the horses in!"
B. "You will get a receipt."
O. J. "For how much?"