“Sir John himself said that unless this—er—interference with the native women were stopped there would be awful trouble. Mr Mast’s name has been mentioned. Two nights ago, as he was coming home from Smith’s, a spear went too near him to be pleasant. Doesn’t that mean something to fear? Let me ask Dr Pryce if he were managing an insurance office if he would accept Mast’s life?”
“If I were the physician he’d never get as far as the manager,” said the doctor, grimly.
“Mast’s is not the only case. Mr Mandelbaum has had stones thrown at him. Lord Charles Baringstoke has been threatened. Natives have been found skulking round the club-house at night. Sir John says that this—er—philandering must be stopped absolutely. But nature is stronger than Sir John; the women are said to be attractive, and young men won’t live ascetic lives. Even if it could be stopped now, much of the harm is done already. The election of Mr Smith would bring the natives round again, and in the meantime something could be done to regularise the situation—some form of marriage which would satisfy native susceptibilities without imposing too onerous an obligation upon us. The help of Mr Smith in a matter of the kind would be invaluable. If we refuse to elect him the natives will get to hear of it—they get to hear of everything—and we stand a good chance of being burned in our beds. I don’t say we might elect Mr Smith—I say that for our own safety we must elect him.”
As Mr Bassett finished there was a sound a little like distant applause; it was merely the club parrot stropping his beak on his perch with furious energy.
“We will proceed to vote, gentlemen,” said Sir John. “You know which way my casting vote will go if there is any difference of opinion between you.”
“You damned thief!” screamed the parrot.
“I shall certainly vote that Mr Smith be elected,” said Mr Bassett.
“You damned thief!” screamed the parrot again.