I hear. It isn't even as if one could get a drink there. They put the place under martial law two days ago.
"My dear fellow," I said, "you don't seem to realize that I'm studying conditions on the Rand. How the devil am I going to study them from Pretoria? I appreciate your care for my safety, but don't you worry about me. I shall be all right."
"I warn you, Sir Eustace, that the food question is already serious."
"A little fasting will improve my figure," I said, with a sigh.
We were interrupted by a telegram being handed to me. I read it with amazement:
"Anne is safe. Here with me at Kimberley. Suzanne Blair."
I don't think I ever really believed in the annihilation of Anne. There is something peculiarly indestructible about that young woman—she is like the patent balls that one gives to terriers. She has an extraordinary knack of turning up smiling. I still don't see why it was necessary for her to walk out of the hotel in the middle of the night in order to get to Kimberley. There was no train, anyway. She must have put on a pair of angel's wings and flown there. And I don't suppose she will ever explain. Nobody does—to me. I always have to guess. It becomes monotonous after a while. The exigencies of journalism are at the bottom of it, I suppose. "How I shot the rapids," by our Special Correspondent.
I refolded the telegram and got rid of my Governmental friend. I don't like the prospect of being hungry, but I'm not alarmed for my personal safety. Smuts is perfectly capable of dealing with the revolution. But I would give a considerable sum of money for a drink! I wonder if Pagett will have the sense to bring a bottle of whisky with him when he arrives to-morrow?
