Being a sort of Service man meself," repeated W. Keyse. He twitched the
stripe carelessly into sight. "C'manding orficer marked me down for this
to-day," he continued, with elaborate indifference, "along of a Favourable
Mention in the Cap'n's Guard Report. Nothin' much--little turn-up with a
'ulking big Dutch bloke, 'oo turned out to be a spy."

In the act of feeling for the invisible moustache, he recognised the face
under the Panama hat worn by the big neighbour in white drill, and blushes
swamped his yellow freckles. The owner of that square, powerful face, no
longer bloated and crimson, but pale and drawn, was the man who had
stepped in to the rescue at the Dutchman's saloon-bar on the previous day,
where Fate had stage-managed effects so badly that the heroic leading
attitude of W. Keyse had perforce given place to the minor role of the
juvenile walking-gentleman. "Watto!" he began. "It's you, Mister! I bin
wantin' to say thank----" But a surge of the crowd flattened W. Keyse
against the green-painted iron railings surrounding a municipal gum-tree,
and the big man was lost to view. Perhaps it was as well that the
acquaintance made under conditions remote from respectability should not
be renewed. But W. Keyse would have preferred to thank the rescuer.

The taking over of the Hospital was accomplished in a moment, to the
disappointment of the ceremony-loving Briton and the Colonial of British
race, to say nothing of the Kaffirs and the Barala, who anticipated a big
indaba. The little party of officers in khaki walked up the gravel-drive
between the carefully-tended grass plats to the stoep where the Mayor of
Gueldersdorp, with the matron, house-surgeon, secretary, and several
prominent members of the Committee--including Alderman Brooker,
puffy-cheeked and yellow-eyed for lack of a night's rest--waited. Military
Authority saluted Civic Dignity, shook hands, and the thing was done.
Inspection followed.

"The warr'ds, said ye?" The Chief Medical Officer, a tall raw-boned
personage, very evidently hailed from North of the Tweed. "I'm obliged to
ye, ma'am," he addressed the flustered matron, "but the warr'ds an' the
contents o' the beds in them are no' to say of the firr'st importance--at
least, whaur I'm concerr'ned. With your permeesion we'll tak' a look at
the Operating Theatre, and overhaul the sterileezing plant, and the
sanitary arrangements, and maybe, after a gliff at the kitchens, there
would be a moment to sp