"No, I think not. I don't believe he would give the matter a second thought."
"You are hard upon the boy," said Mr. Kenyon, rather sternly.
"Not in the least," said the doctor, smiling. "It is his nature. I don't think the matter is really of any consequence, but it would have upset Phra, who is as sensitive as a girl; and he would be worrying himself, and thinking about it for weeks, beside exaggerating the matter on his father's account."
"What is it, then—some trouble with our friend the other king?"
"Friend, eh? I believe that if he could have his own way every European would be driven out of the country—or into the river," he added to himself—"before we were twenty-four hours older."
"What is the fresh trouble, now?"
"Nothing fresh about it, Kenyon. It is the stale old matter. Here we have two parties in the country."
"Yes, and worse still, two kings," interposed Mr. Kenyon.
"Exactly, each having his own party. The one wants to see the country progress and become prosperous and enlightened; the other for it to keep just as it was five hundred years ago; and the worst of it is nearly all the people are on the stand-still side."
"Yes," said Mr. Kenyon. "The old traditions and superstitions suit the indolent nature of the people."