“I’m glad you are not responsible,” Sydney declared.
“But I was,” Phil insisted. “I goaded him on to strike me. I had an irresistible desire to take his whip and give him a plentiful taste of his own medicine. He would have struck me, too. I saw it in his eyes. He has an ungovernable temper, and was clean off his head.”
“Why will you be so rash?” Sydney asked affectionately. “Some day you’re going to get into serious trouble.”
“I can’t help it, Syd,” Phil answered soberly. “Such acts as that, beating an inoffensive native, make my blood boil, and I’m thankful I have the courage and strength to interfere. You would have done it too, Syd,” he exclaimed, “if you had seen it before I did.”
Sydney shook his head. “No,” he replied. “My blood is more sluggish than yours. You did exactly right though, Phil.”
Phil was silent for a moment. Klinger’s face was now regaining its color, but his body was still limp and his eyes closed.
“Syd,” Phil said quietly, “you are really more solid than I. You reflect before you act. I too frequently act upon impulse without reflection.”
“You act, though, only upon good impulses,” Sydney replied.
The carriage stopped in front of the Kapuan firm’s store, and a couple of bystanders were impressed to carry the injured man inside.
“Go tell the ‘fomai,’” Phil instructed a native woman, and she departed quickly to obey.