Oom Koos Marais was a Boer of the old style, who had acquired what
little education he possessed, as he had acquired other things during
the leisurely course of a frugal, industrious, and accumulative span of
fifty odd years, unaided and by dint of his own perseverance and his
lack of all pretence. Most men trusted Oom Koos; Oom Koos in turn
trusted no man, and only one woman--his wife. He concealed his wealth
in his house; read his Testament; did not flog his Kaffirs, because he
had grown too stout and the power had gone from his arm; and was
bitterly opposed to the Scab Act. Apart from this, he was an amiable,
simple-minded man, of staunchly conservative principles, with a big
heart, and certain fixed ideas of life which no argument could unsettle.
Any one who attempted to convince Oom Koos against his judgment
inevitably arrived at the cul-de-sac which prohibited further progress
when Oom Koos broke in gently with the relevant impertinence: "As my old
father used to say, I have my good sight and my good hearing, which
remain unaffected when men talk foolishness."
Oom Koos was partaking of a late breakfast when Matheson rode up with
Honor. Honor dismounted and went inside, and Matheson took the horses
to the stable, a privilege he had insisted upon after the first ride,
off-saddled, and then returned to the house to find the newcomer smoking
a big calabash pipe near the open window of the living-room, sending
heavy wreaths of blue smoke into the air through which his big face
looked serenely like a setting sun obscured by clouds.
Andreas, with his hat on, about to depart to his work, delayed his start
in order to introduce Matheson when the hitter appeared on the stoep;
and, following upon the introduction, a huge hand, having first waved
aside the smoke-cloud which obscured the vision, was slowly extended, a
hand which looked capable of felling an ox, and assuredly of gripping
another heartily, and Matheson felt a moist palm lying in his, and was
almost ashamed of his own strong grip in returning the flabby handshake.
"Moire, Mynheer!" said Oom Koos.
Matheson replied to this greeting in English, explaining, apologetically
that always he had been a fool at languages, and that he did not speak
the taal.
"You will not have been long in the country, eh?" Oom Koos said
pleasantly, as one who considered the taal the language of the country,
and its acquirement the natural outcome of residence therein. "Do you
think of becoming a farmer?"
"Mr Matheson takes more interest in gold than in mohair," Honor put in,
with the tiniest shade of malice in her smile.
Oom Koos farmed two thousand morgen and principally ran goats on the
land. At Honor's speech his face lost its amiable complacency, his
expression darkened.
"That is all the English care for," he said abruptly--"to make big holes
in the ground and take the gold and leave the holes. Ja."
"Miss Krige does me an injustice," Matheson protested. "The mines lured
me only for a brief while. Engineering is my profession. I go back to
it when I leave here."
"So!" remarked Oom Koos, and smoked reflectively. "Do you make a long
stay at Benfontein?" he asked.
"I have made a long stay," Matheson answered. "I leave to-morrow, if
that is convenient to Mrs Krige."
"To-morrow, eh? I am going by De Aar to-morrow. If it suits you, I
will be very pleased to drive you."
This arrangement was so entirely convenient, and so satisfactory in that
it fixed the day and settled definitely the time for his departure, that
Matheson's reluctant acceptance of the kindly intentioned offer sounded
somewhat ungracious even in his own ears. He was amazed at himself.
Here was an offer which exactly suited his plans, and which relieved the
Kriges of the necessity of driving him into town, and he felt resentful
at having to avail himself of it. At the back of his mind had loomed
the hope that Honor would drive with him to De Aar. For some reason of
her own Honor appeared equally dissatisfied with the arrangement. She
listened to Matheson's halting acceptance, and to her mother's mildly
uttered protest against this sudden departure, with thinly disguised
impatience, breaking in on Mrs Krige's expressions of regret.
"It all depends on what hour you start, Oom Koos. Mr Matheson has an
engagement to ride with me to-morrow morning," she announced.
"Certainly. I am not forgetting that," Matheson said promptly.
Oom Koos looked from one to the other and smoked deliberately and
smiled.
"Mijn Maachtij!" He delivered himself of a deep breath. "I have been
young myself, Honor. When you release Mr Matheson I will drive him to
the town. That shall not interfere with your pleasure."
Inexplicably, now that his departure was definitely fixed, though the
responsibility for its settlement was his, Matheson chafed at the
thought of going, and felt quite unjustly aggrieved with the worthy
Dutchman's amiable endeavour to suit his convenience. He considered Oom
Koos officious. And then he fell to blaming Honor. Why had she not
attempted to dissuade him that morning? Why had she taken the
announcement of his departure so calmly, showing an indifference that
seemed to indicate that his going affected her no more than the going of
any other chance visitor? Simply she had appeared not to care; and that
hurt him. Bidding good-bye to her would not, he knew, be an easy matter
for him. It would have consoled him somewhat to know that it would not
have left her unaffected. He had a persuasion that though he was
leaving Benfontein it would not be for ever: some day he would travel
again in that direction; and the next time he came it would not be on
another man's business.
The thought of that unfinished business harassed him not a little. He
had yet to inform Krige that he had reconsidered his offer to carry a
message for him to Holman, that it was uncertain when he would see
Holman. It was an awkward explanation to make, involving unpleasant
possibilities, and raising invidious suggestions; but there was no
prospect of evasion; it had to be done. It was not possible, he felt,
to go into this before a third person; he must mention the matter to
Krige privately. Usually no difficulty to private talk presented
itself. In ordinary circumstances he would have deferred it till the
evening, and said what was necessary during the half-hour when he was
left to the uninterrupted enjoyment of Krige's society; but the arrival
of Oom Koos complicated matters. His best chance of seeing Krige alone
he believed was after the newcomer had gone to bed. He decided to await
his opportunity, and put the affair aside with the quick impatience that
characterised his treatment generally of unpleasant matters. After all,
the man could not oblige him to carry his communications. If no
alternative offered he could at least refuse point blank at the last
moment.
As the day wore on two things became dear to Matheson: that the enormous
Dutchman belonged to the same faction as Krige, and that his visit to
Benfontein had some connexion with Holman's communication. He saw Oom
Koos, with the letter in his hand and his big glasses on his large nose,
seated at the table in the living-room poring over its contents during
the quiet hour of the hot afternoon when he himself was resting in the
shade of the trees, and inclined, but for his interest in Oom Koos'
doings, to sleep.
After a while Mynheer Marais came out and joined him, lowering his great
bulk with heavy cautiousness into one of the cane chairs.
"You take your ease," he said. "That is well in this country. It is
very warm, eh?"
"A Turkish bath would seem cool by comparison," Matheson replied.
"So! You like the heat? ... No!" Oom Koos chuckled, and mopped the
perspiration from his florid brow. "It makes some men thin, while
others prow fat--according how they take their ease. But you like the
country?"
"Yes; the country's all right," Matheson replied without enthusiasm.
"It is a fine agricultural country," Oom Koos proceeded. "South Africa
has a great future. Oh, ja! There will be more gold got out of mohair
than out of the ground. You cut the wool and it grows again; the ground
yields its minerals, and that is finished. If you ever travel by Three
Sisters come to my farm--any one will tell you where Oom Koos Marais
lives. I and my good wife and my good son will make you welcome."
"Thanks. It's very kind of you."
Matheson's tone was non-committal. He was undecided whether Oom Koos
accepted him as a friend, or was merely trying to sound him in respect
to his opinions. Possibly Krige had told him that he was uncertain as
to his views. If Krige felt any curiosity in this matter he had not
revealed it; he had never, even indirectly, tried to get information
from him. Oom Koos' next remark settled his indecision.
"You are a friend of Mr Holman, I hear? He is also my very good
friend."
Matheson faced him more directly.
"I am no friend of Mr Holman," he replied. "I have some acquaintance
with him. The little I know of him does not reflect to his credit."
The big Dutchman evinced surprise, but of so mild a nature and untinged
with any resentment, that it struck Matheson the surprise was not
altogether genuine.
"So! You amaze me, Mr Matheson. I have always believed that to be a
very good man," he declared. "It is a proof that men are not lightly to
be trusted. You are not perhaps mistaken; ... Ach, ne! A man should
select his friends, as he selects his wife, with consideration for their
virtues."
Matheson smiled broadly.
"A good many of us would be fairly lonely if that rule were applied," he
said.
Whereat Oom Koos laughed gently, refusing in his amiable good nature to
take this cynical conclusion seriously. And after that he talked of
farming, and the increasing export trade in mealies, and the excellence
of his mohair.
As a result of their conversation it did not surprise Matheson that he
was debarred from bearing any part in the conference that took place
between the two Dutchmen that same evening. With the finish of supper
when, according to custom, he went out on the stoep to smoke, instead of
being accompanied by Krige, he discovered Mrs Krige following in his
wake, cutting him off from the others, who remained seated at the table
which Honor, assisted by Koewe, was clearing.
"Mr Marais wants to talk business with Andreas," Mrs Krige explained.
When the white cloth was removed the two men drew their chairs closer
about the table; and the hum of their voices, with the pungent smell of
Oom Koos' calabash, assailed the senses insistently, and afforded
reasonable grounds for Mrs Krige's suggestion that they should move
their chairs farther along the stoep. Matheson accordingly moved them
beyond sight of the room and its inmates, where the sound of voices
reached them muffled and indistinct, and the powerful scent of Boer
tobacco ceased from being an offence.
"He is the kindest dear in the world," she said; "but he does smoke vile
tobacco. And he prefers to smoke inside. The smell of it hangs about
the room for days."
Freidja came out and joined them, and after a long interval Honor made
her appearance on the stoep, tired and rather cross and unnaturally
silent. She had been making bread, and still wore her sleeves rolled
above the elbow. Matheson's glance fell admiringly to the round white
arms, and then lifted to the fair face which even in the fading light
showed plainly its owner's discontent.
"Come and sit down," he said.
"No." She stood with her shoulders flattened against the wall of the
house, and did not move. "I want air. How hot it is!"
"You are tired, Honor," Mrs Krige said. "It has been a trying day."
The ghost of a smile flickered across Honor's face.
"It has," she agreed. And Matheson felt that she included him in the
day's list of trying experiences.
"I think you tire yourself with riding so much before breakfast,"
Freidja observed.
In the jagged state of Honor's nerves her temper was not proof against
this. She turned sharply in her sister's direction.
"Some one had to ride to the Nels' farm," she retorted. "I hadn't any
choice since you wouldn't go."
She emitted a short, vexed laugh, and moved abruptly.
"I am going into the garden to search for what I shan't find."
Matheson rose promptly.
"I say," he cried, "that sounds interesting. Let me go with you and
help in the search... May I?"
She looked at him uncertainly.
"You don't know what I am wanting to find," she said.
"Well, whatever it is, two people are more assured of success than one."
"All right." Honor preceded him down the steps. "I am going in search
of my lost temper," she announced over her shoulder.
Freidja looked after the two figures disappearing in the obscurity of
the shadowy garden, and her face hardened as the sound of a laugh was
borne bade to their ears on the motionless air.
"I think it is well that Mr Matheson leaves to-morrow," she said, and
turned in sullen protest towards her mother.
Mrs Krige, looking deep into the shadows, answered nothing.