“Yes,” and again this man’s serious eyes were upon me. Evidently he saw through my motives last night. I thought of last night, of Ethel Bassett’s goodness to me and my mental attitude towards her—and the humiliation attending my talk with Mrs. Mount.
“I’m afraid—” I began, and faltered, not quite knowing what to say.
“The fact that you’re afraid shows you have a conscience.”
“Do you like the West?” I asked, to change the conversation.
“The West! I love the West. British Columbia is the best province in Canada; the climate the best, the scenery the grandest, the people the nicest.”
“Oh! Oh! Oh!” I laughed.
“But, of course, my ideas of nice people are different from those of say, Mrs. Mount.”
“Yes!” I said, somewhat mischievously. He went on:
“Many of us were poor when we went West, but the thing is that we’re cosmopolitan and have formed the habit of looking below the surface of things. Remember that! The social side of life out West is different from the East. So are the people. Here the fellows are all the same; were you to throw a dozen fellows into a sack and heave them about, the product of one grab from the bag would be the same as another. You could not tell them apart, all with the same narrow views of life.” Mr. Bang then suddenly changed his tone, “I’m ready to admit the fellows here have as much right to hate me as I have to hate them.”
“You hate them, hate the East?”