After the wide, deserted stretches of open veldt, the roar of
Adderley Street seemed to Weldon like the maddening tumult of
Piccadilly. The noise stunned him; the hurrying crowd filled him
with terror. Even inside the cab, he still clung to the arm of the
faithful Kruger Bobs. Still clinging to that faithful arm, he came
out from the citadel, no longer Trooper Weldon, but Mr. Harvard
Weldon once more, honorably discharged from the South African Light
Horse. Kruger Bobs was invisible behind the spreading limits of his
smile; but Weldon had scarcely heeded the words which had been
addressed to him. All at once, like a watch about to run down, the
wheels of his brain were moving slowly and ever more slowly. His
whole resolution now centered in keeping them in motion long enough
to go to his banker and to the office of the steamship company. Once
on the steamer and sliding out across Table Bay, he could leave the
rest to the ship's doctor and to Fate.
Even in the multitude of strangers who had passed through Cape Town,
in those latter months, he was remembered at the bank and greeted
with a word of congratulation on his record in the field.
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