Had the roof dropped in on him the collapse of Geddy would not have been more complete. Heron laughed unrestrainedly, perhaps because (as has been said) there is something not altogether displeasing in the misfortunes of our friends; perhaps, too, because his view of the incident referred to was untinged by the bitter sense of personal humiliation, and his humour had therefore full play.
Nairn did not press his discomfited guest, but, smiling pleasantly, took up the burden of the talk.
“I know quite well what you thought of me, and I know even something of what you said about ‘the white dog,’ etc, but I think (and I fancy neither of you will take offence at plain speaking)—I think that I did right in repulsing what had all the appearance of imposition.” He pushed back his chair and turned to the younger man. “Just put yourself in my place, now, Geddy. I came to this place of my own choice. I seek nothing of other men, and I desire to go my own way unmolested. I was here before your people came in their feverish hunt for gold. I dare say I shall be here when you have ended the fruitless search. If things should turn against me and your luck be in the ascendant—why! there is room in Africa for us both. I can move on.”
Nairn spoke in an easy, unemotional way, as though discussing an abstract question of minor importance.
“Do you know,” he continued after a while, “I sought out this spot and I chose this life because here there is no nineteenth century, no struggle, no ambition, no unrest. Here is absolute peace and content for me because I need take no thought of the morrow. You who spend your lives and energies on the outside edge of civilisation paving a way for others’ feet—you are beglamoured by your ‘life of freedom, adventure, and romance,’ My dear sirs, that is a view that I cannot pretend even to understand, much less sympathise with. It may appear unnatural to you, but it is a fact, that I dislike the society of civilised men, and most of all that of the pioneers—the sappers and miners of civilisation—who think a white skin a warrant for anything. Odd as it may seem to you, I do not regard each white man as a friend or a brother. On the contrary, I see in him a possible enemy and a certain nuisance.”
Nairn leaned back in his chair, and thoughtfully polished the bowl of his pipe.
They had finished dinner, and were lighting up for a smoke. The others puffed away in silence.
He had said his say candidly and without heat, and no offence had been meant or taken. Presently Heron said:
“What puzzles me, Nairn, is, since you distrust every white man you see, what the devil made you ask us in?”
“Ay! that’s it,” said Geddy good-humouredly. “That’s the very question I was going to ask. What made you change your opinion?”