"Oh," he said, "if it comes to that, what's anything! You might as well
say, sitting there in your old linen shirt, that you were as great as
Rhodes or Beit or Barnato, or a king. Of course a man's just the same
whatever he's got on or whatever he has; but he isn't the same to other
people."

"There have kings been born in stables," said the stranger.

Then Peter saw that he was joking, and laughed. "It must have been a long
time ago; they don't get born there now," he said. "Why, if God Almighty
came to this country, and hadn't half-a-million in shares, they wouldn't
think much of Him."

Peter built up his fire. Suddenly he felt the stranger's eyes were fixed
on him.

"Who gave you your land?" the stranger asked.

"Mine! Why, the Chartered Company," said Peter.

The stranger looked back into the fire. "And who gave it to them?" he
asked softly.

"Why, England, of course. She gave them the land to far beyond the Zambezi
to do what they liked with, and make as much money out of as they could,
and she'd back 'em."

"Who gave the land to the men and women of England?" asked the stranger
softly.