The Greek Poropulos

At Carolina, in the Transvaal, was a store kept by a man named Lioski,
who was a Polish Jew. There was an officers' clubhouse, the steward of
which was a Greek sportsman named Poropulos, and this story is about
these two men, and about an officer of Hampton's Scouts who took too
much wine and saw a pair of boots.

I have an intense admiration for George Poropulos, and I revere his
memory. I admire him for his nerve; though, for the matter of that, his
nerve was no greater than mine.

Long before the war came, when the negotiations between Great Britain
and the Transvaal Government were in the diplomatic stage, I drifted to
Carolina from the Rand, leaving behind me in the golden city much of
ambition, hope, and all the money I had brought with me from England. I
came to South Africa with a young wife and £370--within a few
shillings--because the doctors told me the only chance I had was in such
a hot, dry climate as the highlands of Africa afforded. For my own part,
there was a greater attraction in the possibility of turning those few
hundreds of mine into thousands, for Johannesburg was in the delirium of
a boom.

I left Johannesburg nearly penniless. I could not, at the moment,
explain the reason of my failure, for the boom continued, and I had the
advantage of the expert advice of Arthur Lioski, who was staying at the
same boarding house as myself.

There were malicious people who warned me against Lioski. His own
compatriots, sharp men of business, told me to 'ware Lioski, but I
ignored the advice because I was very confident in my own judgment, and
Lioski was a plausible, handsome man, a little flashy in appearance, but
decidedly a beautiful animal.

He was in Johannesburg on a holiday, he said. He had stores in various
parts of the country where he sold everything from broomsticks to farm
wagons, and he bore the evidence of his prosperity.

He took us to the theater, or rather he took Lillian, for I was too
seedy to go out much. I did not grudge Lillian the pleasure. Life was
very dull for a young girl whose middle-aged husband had a spot on his
lung, and Lioski was so kind and gentlemanly, so far as Lil was
concerned, that the only feeling I had in the matter was one of
gratitude.

He was tall and dark, broad-shouldered, with a set to his figure and a
swing of carriage that excited my admiration. He was possessed of
enormous physical strength, and I have seen him take two quarreling
Kaffirs--men of no ordinary muscularity--and knock their heads together.