Their clothes were very interesting.  For ugliness of shapes, and for miracles of ugly colors inharmoniously associated, they were a record.  The effect was nearly as exciting and interesting as that produced by the brilliant and beautiful clothes and perfect taste always on view at the Indian railway stations.  One man had corduroy trousers of a faded chewing gum tint.  And they were new—­showing that this tint did not come by calamity, but was intentional; the very ugliest color I have ever seen.  A gaunt, shackly country lout six feet high, in battered gray slouched hat with wide brim, and old resin-colored breeches, had on a hideous brand-new woolen coat which was imitation tiger skin wavy broad stripes of dazzling yellow and deep brown.  I thought he ought to be hanged, and asked the station-master if it could be arranged.  He said no; and not only that, but said it rudely; said it with a quite unnecessary show of feeling.  Then he muttered something about my being a jackass, and walked away and pointed me out to people, and did everything he could to turn public sentiment against me.  It is what one gets for trying to do good.

In the train that day a passenger told me some more about Boer life out in the lonely veldt.  He said the Boer gets up early and sets his “niggers” at their tasks (pasturing the cattle, and watching them); eats, smokes, drowses, sleeps; toward evening superintends the milking, etc.; eats, smokes, drowses; goes to bed at early candlelight in the fragrant clothes he (and she) have worn all day and every week-day for years.  I remember that last detail, in Olive Schreiner’s “Story of an African Farm.”  And the passenger told me that the Boers were justly noted for their hospitality.  He told me a story about it.  He said that his grace the Bishop of a certain See was once making a business-progress through the tavernless veldt, and one night he stopped with a Boer; after supper was shown to bed; he undressed, weary and worn out, and was soon sound asleep; in the night he woke up feeling crowded and suffocated, and found the old Boer and his fat wife in bed with him, one on each side, with all their clothes on, and snoring.  He had to stay there and stand it—­awake and suffering—­until toward dawn, when sleep again fell upon him for an hour.  Then he woke again.  The Boer was gone, but the wife was still at his side.

Those Reformers detested that Boer prison; they were not used to cramped quarters and tedious hours, and weary idleness, and early to bed, and limited movement, and arbitrary and irritating rules, and the absence of the luxuries which wealth comforts the day and the night with.  The confinement told upon their bodies and their spirits; still, they were superior men, and they made the best that was to be made of the circumstances.  Their wives smuggled delicacies to them, which helped to smooth the way down for the prison fare.