‘No, Stephaans, we do not see the matter in the same light. When I feel that the Lord wishes me to leave my farm, and let the gold be dug, I will tear from my heart the love I have for my home and my birthplace, and leave it. But I do not feel so yet. No one will lose by it; I shall be the only loser; but the loss I consider gain, so long as I can keep my home unpolluted by the drunken, the profane, the blasphemer, the canteen-keeper. These you know are always to be found where gold is being dug.’ And no amount of arguing or talking on the part of Steve could induce the conservative old farmer to change his views. He again made Steve promise not to tell of the gold, lest the Government should take the bit in its own mouth and proclaim his farm as public gold diggings. CHAPTER IV THE JEW The following day Steve’s host had decided to go to Johannesburg to arrange about the sale of some slaughter bullocks. He invited Steve to go with him and act as interpreter. Steve said he should enjoy the drive, and went. After business was concluded, Steve and Oom Hans were seated at a table in a _café_, partaking of some refreshments. On the opposite side of the table were seated two Jews, discussing some samples of quartz before them. At last one of the Jews turned towards Oom Hans, with the usual insinuating familiar manner of the Jew and said,-- ‘Mijnheer, don’t you tink dis quartz is goot? Dere ought to pe lots of gold in it?’ Oom Hans indulged in his usual quiet, good-natured laugh, and, turning to Steve, said,-- ‘Let us make the hearts of these Jews ache a little. Show them a piece of the quartz you put in your pocket, but (aside) mind you don’t tell them our names or where we live?’ Steve smilingly took out a piece of quartz--it was by no means the best, and handed it to the Jews, and asked,-- ‘What do you think of that?’ The Jews took the quartz, looked at it, and nearly jumped out of their boots from excitement when they saw the richness of the quartz. They laughed, they shouted, they danced. They called for coffee, tea, lemonade, and a dish full of the nicest cake in the establishment, and placed it before the strangers, who carried _such_ samples of quartz about them. ‘_Eet, mijnheer, drink, mijnheer, ons zal betaal_’--‘eat and drink master, we will pay.’ When they had quieted down, the Jews came and seated themselves near to Steve and Oom Hans, and started pumping operations. ‘Is dis quartz from your farram, mijnheer?’ ‘Yes,’ was the uncompromising reply. ‘Where do you lif, mijnheer?’ ‘In the Transvaal?’ ‘Yes; put where? What district?’ ‘Oh, in one of the districts?’ was the laughing rejoinder. ‘Near what town, mijnheer?’ ‘Oh, within a thousand miles of Johannesburg?’ The Jews laughed as if this was a very good joke. They were confident of getting round this stupid old Boer. ‘Will mijnheer not have a drink--whisky, prandy, or gin, whatever you like?’