"How have you lived?" Marston asked. "You are a white man and it's plain you have unusual gifts. Yet you're satisfied to skulk about the swamps in dirt and rags, cheating superstitious brutes by conjuring tricks! The thing's unthinkable."
Rupert looked at him with the smile Marston hated. It was malevolent and mocked his philosophy.
"Some of the tricks are clever; they have puzzled you. We will not argue whether all are tricks or not. Anyhow, the clever impostor is a common type. Men who claim magic power direct your company-floating and manipulate your politics; but perhaps it's among primitive people the fakir has most influence. In the bush, I'm high-priest, and something of a prophet."
"You claim to be king," said Wyndham, very dryly. "Prophecy's not difficult when you rather trust to knowledge your disciples haven't got than inspiration. No doubt, you make lucky shots, but royalty's another job. An unacknowledged king must fight for his crown. I want you to think if you hadn't better give it up."
Marston, looking from one to the other, felt the crisis had come. Both were calm, but he thought Harry was highly strung. Their glances were strangely keen; they looked like fencers about to engage. Marston reflected that Rupert did not know Harry's new plans; nor did he know Peters meant to meddle.
"Well," said Rupert, "suppose I agree? What have you to offer?"
"Much, I think. Your return to civilized life and the place where you properly belong. However, we'll be practical. You can resume the partnership in Wyndhams' that is really yours. I'll give you any just share to which Bob will consent, and we'll use your knowledge as far as we can do so lawfully. Our business could be extended and the house ought to prosper in our joint control."
Rupert laughed. "You offer money! In England, it would buy no power I have not got, and the things I like I have. We'll let this go. You are my nephew and perhaps you feel you must be generous; but don't you think you're rash? Have you forgotten the years I've lived in the dark? Habits stick. It would be embarrassing if your relation used the manners of a savage, and I have idiosyncrasies that would give fastidious people a nasty jolt. Then, since you have married, what about your wife? Women are rather strict about conventional niceties."
"My wife agrees," Wyndham replied, incautiously.
"To your plans for my reform? Then, you have some plans. You are, so to speak, missionaries. Well, I imagine Marston is fitter for the job. His confidence can't be shaken, and he doesn't bother about the other fellow's point of view. The successful missionary is a fanatic."