CHAPTER VII.
THREE YEARS LATER "Extra speshul--extra speshul--all about Kruger an' his guns!" The shrill, acrid cry rang down St.James's Street, and a newsboy with a bunch of pink papers under his arm shot hither and thither on the pavement, offering his sensational wares to all he met.
"Extra speshul--extra speshul--all about the war wot's comin'-- all about Kruger's guns!" From an open window on the second floor of a building in the street a man's head was thrust out, listening.
"The war wot's comin'!" he repeated, with a bitter sort of smile.

"And all about Kruger's guns.

So it is coming, is it, Johnny Bull; and you do know all about his guns, do you?
If it is, and you do know, then a shattering big thing is coming, and you know quite a lot, Johnny Bull." He hummed to himself an impromptu refrain to an impromptu tune: "Then you know quite a lot, Johnny Bull, Johnny Bull, Then you know quite a lot, Johnny Bull!" Stepping out of the French window upon a balcony now, he looked down the street.

The newsboy was almost below.

He whistled, and the lad looked up.