“England doesn’t deserve to keep her colonies!” vowed Fred, caught in a sudden flood of indignation.

Courtney laughed.

“When you’ve seen as many of the other nations’ colonies as I have you’ll qualify that verdict!  We do our best.  God gave us our work to do, and the devil came and made us stupid!  Take this country, for instance.”

“Yes!” agreed Fred.  “Take this country!  We came ashore today—­left Monty on board ship on his way to Europe.  Nobody knew a thing about us.  A female woman, known to the police in Zanzibar and so notorious in Europe that she’s in no hurry to go home—­said, too, on every hand to be in the pay of the German government—­chose to tell lies about us to the chuckle-headed puppies in charge of Mombasa.  Net result—­what do you suppose?”

“I know,” said Courtney.  “I’ve been told this evening.”  His eyes changed, and his voice took on the almost feminine note of appeal that came strangely from a big game hunter.  “You boys must overlook things.  These boys you’re angry with are younger than you, Fred. That collector you’ve contrived to pick a quarrel with has fought Arabs and cannibal troops—­odds against him of fifty or a hundred to one, mind you—­all across the Congo and back again.  He fought in the Uganda mutiny.  He’s a man.  He’s a merchant, though, with a merchant’s education.  He was taken over with the rest of the clerks when the British government superseded the British East Africa Trading Company.  He has never had the advantage of legal training.  Went to a common school.  No advantages of any kind.  Poorly paid and overworked.  There’s no money in the country yet.  Nobody to tax.  Salaries—­expenses and so on come from home, voted by Parliament.  As long as that condition lasts they’re all going to feel nervous.  They know they’ll get the blame for everything that goes wrong, and precious little credit in any case.  Parliament advertised the country in answer to their complaints of no revenue.  Parliament called for settlers.  But they’re not ready for settlers.  They don’t know how to handle them.  They’ve no troops—­nothing but a handful of black police.  How shall they keep in order colonials armed with repeating rifles?  They’re not ready.  The Uganda Railway isn’t finished yet; trains get through to Victoria Nyanza once a week, but there’s endless work to be done yet on the line, and Parliament grudges them every penny they spend on it.  Yet the railway was rushed through by order of Parliament to prevent Doctor Karl Peters and the Germans from claiming occupation of the head-waters of the Nile and so dominating Upper Egypt.  You boys must be considerate.”

“All right,” said Fred.  “I’ll grant all that.”

“But what gets me” Will interrupted, “is that they should condemn us out-of-hand—­on sight—­untried—­on the say-so of this Lady Saffren Waldon.  She carries German letters of credit.  She’s so notoriously in league with Germans that you’d think even these little Napoleons ’ud know it.  I’m American myself, thank God, but these two men are their own kith and kin.  Why should they judge their own countrymen unheard on the say-so of a woman like that?  That’s what rattles me!”