A moment's reflection convinced him that the child's message was part of a preconceived arrangement with Amurrica. But he felt sure that, after his handling of the subject, the prospective bridegroom would be unable to take his part in anything that night. He looked at the clock, which pointed to seven, and made up his mind that he would resume his sentry duty at Lutwyche's about eight. Anticipating a long wait, he thrust a sandwich into his pocket and a flask of spirits, and sallied forth to stroll down the town, and hear what was being said of the fight and the funeral.
The main street was thronged with people. For a minute it made him a little anxious. If the town meant to take up the feud, and back Otis, things might be a trifle strained, though there were some of the men on whom he thought he could rely as backers.
But he soon saw that there was a deeper preoccupation on the faces of the burghers. The fight, which in calmer times would have filled men's mouths for a week, was forgotten. The flag floating over the Post Office showed him that the weekly mail was in; and knowing the political tension, he guessed that there was news. He dashed into the Vierkleur. It was a babel of tongues. Men were fighting for possession of the newspapers; those who had letters or journals from Pretoria were being besieged in corners. For the moment, the remembrance of Millie faded from Bert's mind, as he mingled with the throng, and gathered first of all the main fact, that the British Government had ordered the immediate despatch of troops, both from England and India, to back up the demand for the Outland Franchise. Debate was keen as to whether the British Government would really fight.
The madness of conflict rose in Bert's blood as in that of all the men there. They shouted, argued, wrangled, drank, swore. At whatever cost, Bert felt he must get at the main facts of the position, and he listened while one of the men, perched on the bar, read aloud leading articles from English and Boer journals, and the talk hummed and buzzed more busily than ever.
He was recalled from his absorption by a touch on his shoulder. Cornelis Pieters, the field-cornet, stood by, regarding him with no friendly glance.
"Lucky for you the Commandos are to be called out; nobody will have time to set the law on you," he growled. "Otis is goin' to die."
"We're all going to die—some day," said Bert placidly.
"He's goin' on ahead," said Pieters surlily.
"I'm not taking any," returned Bert, unmoved. "I had the cooking of him, and I know what I done to him. He won't be gettin' married just yet a while; but he's all right."
"If Tante Wilma takes my advice, she'll give that girl a taste of the stick," rumbled Pieters. "A taller dip 'ud make as good a wife as her, to my way o' thinkin'; an' when a man that could stomach her comes along, you must needs knock him out o' time. It wasn't your affair. There'll be a reckoning, I can tell you."