Matheson's tone was non-committal. He was undecided whether Oom Koos accepted him as a friend, or was merely trying to sound him in respect to his opinions. Possibly Krige had told him that he was uncertain as to his views. If Krige felt any curiosity in this matter he had not revealed it; he had never, even indirectly, tried to get information from him. Oom Koos' next remark settled his indecision. "You are a friend of Mr Holman, I hear? He is also my very good friend." Matheson faced him more directly. "I am no friend of Mr Holman," he replied. "I have some acquaintance with him. The little I know of him does not reflect to his credit." The big Dutchman evinced surprise, but of so mild a nature and untinged with any resentment, that it struck Matheson the surprise was not altogether genuine. "So! You amaze me, Mr Matheson. I have always believed that to be a very good man," he declared. "It is a proof that men are not lightly to be trusted. You are not perhaps mistaken; ... Ach, ne! A man should select his friends, as he selects his wife, with consideration for their virtues." Matheson smiled broadly. "A good many of us would be fairly lonely if that rule were applied," he said. Whereat Oom Koos laughed gently, refusing in his amiable good nature to take this cynical conclusion seriously. And after that he talked of farming, and the increasing export trade in mealies, and the excellence of his mohair. As a result of their conversation it did not surprise Matheson that he was debarred from bearing any part in the conference that took place between the two Dutchmen that same evening. With the finish of supper when, according to custom, he went out on the stoep to smoke, instead of being accompanied by Krige, he discovered Mrs Krige following in his wake, cutting him off from the others, who remained seated at the table which Honor, assisted by Koewe, was clearing. "Mr Marais wants to talk business with Andreas," Mrs Krige explained. When the white cloth was removed the two men drew their chairs closer about the table; and the hum of their voices, with the pungent smell of Oom Koos' calabash, assailed the senses insistently, and afforded reasonable grounds for Mrs Krige's suggestion that they should move their chairs farther along the stoep. Matheson accordingly moved them beyond sight of the room and its inmates, where the sound of voices reached them muffled and indistinct, and the powerful scent of Boer tobacco ceased from being an offence. "He is the kindest dear in the world," she said; "but he does smoke vile tobacco. And he prefers to smoke inside. The smell of it hangs about the room for days."