"I don't want to marry one, just yet," replied Willatopy indifferently. "If they loved my bright blue eyes, and were to me as are my brown girls, that would please me."
"You are a great Lord, and there would be no lack of beautiful white women to seek your favour," said Clifford, whose little close-set eyes began to twinkle. He was progressing.
"I have a very fine hut," observed Willie. "It is thatched with sago palm. There is not a finer hut in the islands."
"In England you would have big houses, not huts," said Clifford. "Big houses with many rooms."
"I do not like English houses," said Willatopy. "The walls are iron and roofs are iron. They are painted white and glare in the sun. I have seen them on Thursday Island."
"Those are not real houses, my lord. Your lordship's chief house in Devonshire has red stone walls and a roof of burnt clay tiles. It is a splendid house, hundreds of years old. Green ivy grows upon the walls. There are many servants in the house and in the gardens; white servants."
"I should like to have white men working in my garden as my servants. They are very proud. I should like to have the Skipper as my servant. I would lay my stick on his back and make him—skip. When I am an English Lord will the Skipper be my servant?"
"If you wish, my lord, all men will be your servants. In England the great lords are the masters of the people."
"Shall I be your master?"
Clifford hesitated. The boy with his childlike savage logic was moving too fast, but it would not do to hesitate. He decided to go the whole hog.