“Born in this country?” I asked.

“Yorkshire,” he answered laconically.

“Been in Africa long?”

“’Bout five years.”

“Where did you put in most of your time before the war?”

“Johannesburg.”

“Mines?”

“No.”

“Merchant?”

“No.”

“Hotel-keeper, perhaps?”

“No.”

“Shopkeeper?”

“No.”

“What was your calling, or profession, or business, or means of livelihood?”

“General agent, sharebroker, correspondent for some local papers.”

H’m; I knew the class of animal well—­general jackal; do the dirty work of any trade, and master of none.

“Where were you when the war broke out?”

He scowled savagely:  “Johannesburg.”

“Have the same hatred for the Boers before the war as you have now?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you pick up a rifle and have a hand in the fighting?”

“I’m not a blessed ‘Tommy,’ sir!  Do you take me for a d——­ ‘Tommy,’ sir?”

“No; oh, no, I assure you I did nothing of the kind.  But—­er, have you been in the hands of the Boers since the war started?”

“Yes, until our troops marched in here a day or two ago.”

“H’m.  Did they rob you?”

“No.”

“Did they ill-treat you—­knock you about, and that sort of thing?”

“No.”

“Why do you hate them so bitterly, then?”

“Oh, I can’t stand a cursed Boer at any price.  Thinks he’s as good as a Britisher all the time, and puts on side; and he’s a cursed tyrant in his heart, and would rub us out if he could.”

“Yes, the Boer thought himself as good a man as the Britishers he met out this way,” I replied, “and he backed his opinion with his life and his rifle.  Why didn’t you do the same if you reckoned yourself a better man?”

“Why should I; don’t we pay ‘Tommy’ to do that for us?”

“Perhaps we do; but, concerning those Boer laagers you have been telling us about:  where, when, and how did you see them; what was the name of the place; who was the Boer general in command, or the field cornet, or landdrost?  I did not know the Boers gave British refugees the free run of their war laagers, and I’m interested in the matter, being a scribe myself and a man of peace.  Just give me a few names and dates and facts, will you?”

“No, I won’t,” he snarled.  “You seem to doubt my word, you do, and I’m as good a Britisher as you are any day, and you think you can come along and pump information out of me for nothing; but I’m too fly for that—­they don’t breed fools in Yorkshire.”

“Well, sir, as it seems to suit your temper,” I said as sweetly as I could, “I’ll make it a business proposition.  I’ll bet you fifty pounds to five you have never put your head inside a Boer laager in war time in your life.  If you have, just name it and give me a few facts.”