"It's coming now, Tanta, it's coming now," cried one young fellow, thrusting his way to the front. The old lady looked at him across the table.
"What is coming now?" she repeated shortly--a way she had with those of the speaker's age and type.
"Why, the war, of course. We are going to drive the English out of the country. The Patriot says so."
The old lady snorted.
"You look like driving anybody out of the country, Theunis Venter, even the English. You'd be afraid to lie behind an antheap waiting to shoot rooi-baatjes for fear of spoiling that pretty waistcoat of yours"--looking him up and down contemptuously. "And his tight riding-breeches--oh!--oh! wouldn't they split? And the rings! And yet you don't look like an Englishman, Theunis, not even in your grand English clothes."
A roar of applause and derision from that section of her hearers which had not enjoyed the advantage of a South Afr