"Not if he knows it. I have always had full sympathy with my hound
who leaves his dog-bread in favor of a bit of oak planking gnawed
out from his kennel floor."
But Carew was less dainty. Nevertheless, he attacked the biscuit
with two flat stones, and mixed the debris with his coffee.
Now, however, thanks to the efforts of Kruger Bobs, they were living
thriftily and upon the fat of the land.
"How do you get it all, Kruger Bobs?" Weldon had demanded, one day.
"To my sure knowledge, you've no money, and people hereabouts don't
love the British. What is your secret?"
Kruger Bobs ducked his bristly head into his ragged hat, and gave an
explosive chuckle. Then he raised his head and scratched it
demurely.
"Kruger Bobs just gits it, Boss," he explained comprehensively.
He came in, the next night, his pockets stuffed, his mouth wide ajar
and the very whites of his eyes full of mystery. Carew and Weldon,
sitting together, glanced up as he appeared. Instantly, as he caught
sight of Carew, Kruger Bobs veiled his emotion and sought to become
properly nonchalant. Nevertheless, it was plain that he had tidings
to impart; and at length, over the top of Carew's head, he fell to
making graphic, yet totally unintelligible, signs to his master.
"What in thunder do you want, Kruger Bobs?" Weldon demanded.
Kruger Bobs heaved an ostentatious sigh, cast at Weldon one flashing
grin, and then asked dolorously,--
"Me speak Boss out dere?"
"What under heaven is the matter with you, Kruger Bobs?" Weldon
asked, as he departed on the heels of his serving man.
Kruger Bobs slapped his thigh noiselessly, vanished behind his
smile, then reappeared to put his lips to Weldon's ear and whisper
in raucous triumph--"Syb down dere Winburg."
"What? Who is Syb?" Weldon queried blankly.
Kruger Bobs straightened, in dignified resentment at his master's
ignorance.
"Syb be my vrouw soon."
"Oh, I see. No wonder you look elated, you rascal. So you have been
courting?"