The Shadow of the Past Part 24

"A girl--yes."

Matheson was silent for a moment or so; and the other man, observing him closely, drew his own conclusions from his gloomy face.

"That's past and done with though. She hasn't any part in this. I want to marry... It has nothing to do with being in love. I've been thinking about things... getting hold of a sort of idea of what my special job in life is. I am going to colonise--in earnest. I'm going to own land in the country, and raise a family on it if it's possible, and try for a seat in the Legislative a.s.sembly and have a voice in matters." He looked up, met Macfarlane's astonished, questioning eye, and smiled drily. "You think I'm talking over my hat," he said.

"I think you are taking on something of a job," was all Macfarlane vouchsafed.

They were seated after dinner in a quiet corner of Macfarlane's stoep which fronted his small bachelor bungalow. It was a Sunday afternoon, warm and still, and until their present conversation roused them from their lethargy they had both seemed more inclined to drowse than talk.

Matheson, who was smoking, threw away his cigarette in order to give his whole attention to his subject.

"I was on a Dutch farm before I came down," he said, "staying among Dutch people--some of the disaffected Dutch--"

"There are a good many of that breed," Macfarlane interposed.

"They've got a case," Matheson said.

"Oh! they've got a case," Macfarlane allowed--"but it's against their own interests to insist upon it. The men with brains recognise that.

It's among the more ignorant Boers that the disaffection spreads. I don't fancy it is worth worrying over."

"Possibly not. But it's always desirable to stop the spread of contagious disease."

"What remedy have you to propose?" Macfarlane inquired.

"Tact. I'm of the opinion that it is because most of us refuse to recognise their case that the ill feeling spreads. I've talked with them... It's a real sense of injustice at the back of their minds that rankles. They aren't all of them actuated by blind hatred."

Macfarlane looked doubtful.

"Well, there may have been injustice," he allowed. "But the position out here was impossible, as any one who wasn't a sentimentalist would acknowledge. After all, it's a British Colony, and there wasn't room for a rival power. We paid hard cash for the privilege of settling, and our right received international recognition. We've done more for the development of South Africa than the Boers ever could. If they owned the country some greater power would step in and take it from them.

They aren't, you see, a nation."

"They are a nation in the making," Matheson rejoined, thinking of Nel's words. "They are going to be a power in the country."

"Why not? There's room for all of us under the one flag."

Matheson was silent for a while, thinking. Presently he said:

"There's ill work--underhand work going on. I've come in touch with it.

There's a German I know, who pa.s.ses for an Englishman, who is deliberately fostering the spirit of rebellion among the Boers."

"I dare say. The Germans played dirty tricks with the Boers during the late war. But if it came to a head," Macfarlane answered comfortably, "it would be only a half-hearted rebellion. That spirit isn't general."

"No. But it has crossed my mind to wonder whether there is something behind this--something we aren't expecting. Europe seems settled and peaceably inclined, but... Suppose there should be something brewing?"

Macfarlane sat up and looked at him queerly.

"It's odd you should say that," he remarked. "It was only last week Aplin was commenting on the German exodus from Port Elizabeth. For the past two years they have been leaving for Europe, all the influential Germans. They have any amount of German firms there, and the beggars are all clearing out." He laughed suddenly. "Oh, rats!" he cried.

"You are making me fanciful. I should advise you to quit staying on Dutch farms. You stick to engineering, my boy, and give over philosophising on love and war."

"I'm going to talk with Aplin about this," Matheson said. "I'd like to hear what he has to say."

"Oh! he'll play up to you all right. There's a German round his way who puts his back up with his incessant peace talk. He has ideas for a federation of nations to enforce peace on the world. That idea, according to Aplin, is aggressive; no principle can be peaceful that needs to be enforced."

"One can argue down anything with that kind of sophistry," Matheson contended. "But there is something in the idea."

"Yes--if the beggar's sincere. But something of that nature appeared in a magazine a little while back. For myself, I'd like to know where it originated. I'm not much of a believer in any German made article. The German may talk brotherly love; but he never has loved his neighbour, and he never will. Look at their Colonies. None but Germans can live under their flag. And then look at Cape Town--bar America, it is the most cosmopolitan city in the world. So much for that!" he said, and lighted himself another cigarette. "I discredit equally their peace palaver and your predicted rebellion. If rebellion does come, we've got a man at the head of affairs--and he's a Dutchman, mind you--who will be equal to dealing with it."

"He knows how to deal with strikers anyhow," Matheson said, and laughed.

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

Whether as a result of the talk with Macfarlane, or the expiration of Aplin's leave and his departure for Algoa Bay, Matheson's visits to the Rondebosch household fell off in regularity. He went out for tennis when the mood inclined him, and on occasions still met the two girls at the cafe in the luncheon recess and ate ices with them. It was a somewhat remarkable coincidence that they were so often in the vicinity of the cafe he frequented at the same hour as himself; it was always an accident, and so unexpected.

He came in time to look for them, and evolved a formula in response to their surprised exclamations. There were even times when he experienced a faint disappointment if they failed to appear. There were other times when, disinclined for their chatter, he dropped into a less fashionable cafe nearer his work and took his iced coffee in solitary enjoyment.

They detected him immediately upon his new discovery diving into the small cafe, and followed him, and were "so surprised" when they met within to see that he too patronised this nice quiet little place.

"It's so restful," said Rosie audibly, as they seated themselves at his suggestion at the same table. "And really the things they give you are quite good. How did you come to find it out?"

"It's handy for me, you see," he explained. "I can't always get off at this hour, and often I have only ten minutes. When time is limited I bolt in here."

He did not consider it necessary to admit that it was only the second time he had visited the cafe.

"I like to try the different places," he added, with a view to future evasion.

"The girls' dresses are pretty," observed May, looking after the neat Puritan figure of the waitress who had served them. "They suggest the chorus in a revue."

"I dare say Mr Matheson considers that one of the attractions of the place," Rosie threw in with a touch of malice.

Matheson, who had not as a matter of fact taken particular note of the waitresses, glanced after a tall blonde girl who pa.s.sed their table carrying a trayful of American drinks, and laughed.

"I think they look jolly fine," he said.

May looked about her, nibbling an ice wafer.

"I wouldn't mind being a waitress in a cafe. They don't have half a bad time," she averred.

"May!" Her sister appeared horrified. "The things men say to them...

And imagine taking tips!"

"I'd like the tips all right," May declared, and caught Matheson's eye and smiled. "And it's just fascinating squirting drinks out of those syphons. It makes one cool to watch. Besides, I'd like going about in fancy dress all day, and wearing a d.i.n.ky little cap. How do you think I'd lode in one of those Puritan caps, Mr Matheson?"

"I think you would look sufficiently attractive to be sure of your tips," he answered.

"Flatterer!" she exclaimed, and laughed. "I shouldn't look puritanical anyhow."

"No," he rejoined. "I don't believe you could."

"That sort of thing is all very well at a charity bazaar," Rosie affirmed. "Even then, I prefer selling flowers."