"Well, and that is aboriginal dispersion," said the novelist. "That is
the aristocratic method of legislating the native out of existence."

Blackburn here vigorously protested. "Yes, it's very like a novelist, on
the hunt for picturesque events, to spend his forensic soul upon 'the
poor native,'--upon the dirty nigger, I choose to call him: the meanest,
cruellest, most cowardly, and murderous--by Jove, what a lot of
adjectives!--of native races. But we fellows, who have lost some of the
best friends we ever had--chums with whom we've shared blanket and
tucker--by the crack of a nulla-nulla in the dark, or a spear from the
scrub, can't find a place for Exeter Hall and its 'poor native' in our
hard hearts. We stand in such a case for justice. It is a new country.
Not once in fifty times would law reach them. Reprisal and dispersion
were the only things possible to men whose friends had been massacred,
and--well, they punished tribes for the acts of individuals."

Mrs. Falchion here interposed. "That is just what England does. A
British trader is killed. She sweeps a native town out of existence with
Hotchkiss guns--leaves it naked and dead. That is dispersion too; I have
seen it, and I know how far niggers as a race can be trusted, and how
much they deserve sympathy. I agree with Mr. Blackburn."

Blackburn raised his glass. "Mrs. Falchion," he said, "I need no further
evidence to prove my case. Experience is the best teacher."

"As I wish to join the chorus to so notable a compliment, will somebody
pass the claret?" said Colonel Ryder, shaking the crumbs of a pate from
his coat-collar. When his glass was filled, he turned towards Mrs.
Falchion, and continued: "I drink to the health of the best teacher."