Then,
as Table Mountain and the Devil's Peak lifted themselves on his
right hand, he knew that Cape Town was near, and he braced himself
to go through what was before him.
Kruger Bobs eyed him anxiously.
"Boss sick," he announced for the dozenth time, as the train drew in
at the Adderley Street station. "Boss berry sick mans. Boss go hotel
soon."
But Weldon shook his head. Even now, rest had scant space in his
plans, least of all, rest in Cape Town.
"I can do it," he asserted resolutely. "Steady me till I get
started, Kruger Bobs. Then I shall astonish you by my agility."
"Boss go hotel," Kruger Bobs muttered in low-voiced mutiny. "Boss
too sick to trek."
"No fear. Did you ever know me to give out, when there was something
still to be done, Kruger Bobs?"
"What Boss do?"
"My discharge. My banker. My passage home."
The arm of Kruger Bobs tightened about the bony figure of his
master, but the pressure of his strong arm was only gentle and
reassuring, and the great, white-ringed eyes glittered wet. This was
not the boy master to whom Kruger Bobs had sworn allegiance. This
was an older man, and weak withal. But the weaker grew the master,
the stronger grew the loyal, loving allegiance of the man.
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