Lechworthy smiled patiently. “You will keep talking as if I carried British protection in my pocket. I hope that something can be done, and I shall do my best. But how often have I told you that it is all very doubtful and may end in nothing?”
“No,” said the King, stolidly, “you are a political man, just the same as Gladstone. So you understand how this can be managed.”
“But I’m not at all the same as Gladstone,” said Lechworthy. “I have not the gifts, nor the position, nor the influence that he had. I—”
“But still you will do it. You have a newspaper, much money, many friends. I think you too modest. If you wish you will do it. If you do it I will give your Protestant religion a very good chance.”
“Wouldn’t the chance be better,” said Lechworthy, “if you allowed one white missionary. I could select the man myself—a man who would be in sympathy with your views.”
“It is not then a religion for all races?” asked the King. “Without the help of the white man it cannot work—eh?” These were calculated questions.
Gradually he brought Lechworthy to agree with him. In the face of the doubter Lechworthy felt that he himself must show no doubt. In uplifted moments he did really feel enthusiastic and confident.
Lechworthy went on in a steady and business-like way, preparing his appeal for a native Faloo, and requiring from the King endless information. Were the people sober? They were. As a matter of fact they had no chance of drinking. Were they industrious? Here the King hesitated a little. The people of his race were naturally less active than Europeans. But they could be made to work—oh, yes. What were the statistics as to the prevalence of crime and violence? There were no statistics, but the King could give a general assurance. Above all, was the Government strong and stable, able to control the inhabitants, and properly representative of their interests?
“But I myself am the Government,” said Smith, slightly aggrieved. “And what does it matter?”