“That is so. I shall be much obliged if you will give me a ticket. I must reach Pretoria today.”
He smiled, and moved to pity, said: “I am not a Transvaaler. I am a Hollander. I appreciate your feelings, and you have my sympathy. I do want to give you a ticket—on one condition, however, that, if the guard should ask you to shift to the third class, you will not involve me in the affair, by which I mean that you should not proceed against the Railway Company. I wish you a safe journey. I can see you are a gentleman.”
With these words he booked the ticket. I thanked him and gave him the necessary assurance.
Sheth Abdul Gani had come to see me off at the station. The incident gave him an agreeable surprise, but he warned me saying: “I shall be thankful if you reach Pretoria all right. I am afraid the guard will not leave you in peace in the first class, and even if he does, the passengers will not.”
I took my seat in a first class compartment and the train started. At Germiston the guard came to examine the tickets. He was angry to find me there, and signalled to me with his finger to go to the third class. I showed him my first class ticket. “That doesn’t matter,” said he, “remove to the third class.”
There was only one English passenger in the compartment. He took the guard to task. “What do you mean by troubling the gentleman?” he said. “Don’t you see he has a first class ticket? I do not mind in the least his travelling with me.” Addressing me, he said, “You should make yourself comfortable where you are.”
The guard muttered: “If you want to travel with a coolie, what do I care?” and went away.
At about 8 o’clock in the evening the train reached Pretoria.