ass. 'You are from South Africa.
What make you in Europe?'

We both looked sullen and secretive.

'That's our own business,' I answered. 'You don't expect to buy our
confidence with a glass of beer.'

'So?' he said. 'Then I will put it differently. From your speech in
the cafe I judge you do not love the English.'

Peter said something about stamping on their grandmothers, a Kaffir
phrase which sounded gruesome in Dutch.

The man laughed. 'That is all I want to know. You are on the German
side?'

'That remains to be seen,' I said. 'If they treat me fair I'll fight
for them, or for anybody else that makes war on England. England has
stolen my country and corrupted my people and made me an exile. We
Afrikanders do not forget. We may be slow but we win in the end. We
two are men worth a great price. Germany fights England in East
Africa. We know the natives as no Englishmen can ever know them. They
are too soft and easy and the Kaffirs laugh at them. But we can handle
the blacks so that they will fight like devils for fear of us. What is
the reward, little man, for our services? I will tell you. There will
be no reward. We ask none. We fight for hate of England.'

Peter grunted a deep approval.

'That is good talk,' said our entertainer, and his close-set eyes
flashed. 'There is room in Germany for such men as you. Where are you
going now, I beg to know.'

'To Holland,' I said. 'Then maybe we will go to Germany. We are tired
with travel and may rest a bit. This war will last long and our chance
will come.'

'But you may miss your market,' he said significantly. 'A ship sails
tomorrow for Rotterdam. If you take my advice, you will go with her.'

This was what I wanted, for if we stayed in Lisbon some real soldier of
Maritz might drop in any day and blow the gaff.

'I recommend you to sail in the _Machado_,' he repeated. 'There is
work for you in Germany--oh yes, much work; but if you delay the chance
may pass. I will arrange your journey. It is my business to help the
allies of my fatherland.'

He wrote down our names and an epitome of our doings contributed by
Peter, who required two mugs of beer to help him through. He was a
Bavarian, it seemed, and we drank to the health of Prince Rupprecht,
the same blighter I was trying to do in at Loos. That was an irony
which Peter unfortunately could not appreciate. If he could he would
have enjoyed it.

The little chap saw us back t