Grey had at last given up the cigar he had lighted over and over and let
go out as often. He set down his empty glass, and said with perfect
courtesy, "I may have been excessive in statement. I beg pardon for
having spoken of, or rather hinted at, the need for a resort to arms.
That is never a pleasant hint among gentlemen. I should like to hear how
this awful problem presents itself to you, a clergyman of, sir, I am glad
to know, my own church."
"Yes, that is always pleasant to hear," said Rivers. "There at least we
are on common ground. I dislike these discussions, Mr. Grey, but I cannot
leave you without a reply, although in this house (and he meant the hint
to have its future usefulness) politics are rarely discussed."
"Indeed!" exclaimed Grey. "At home we talk little else. I do believe the
watermelons and the pumpkins talk politics."
Rivers smiled. "I shall reply to you, of course. It will not be a full
answer. I want to say that this present trouble is not a quarrel born
within the memory of any living man. The colonial life began with
colonial differences and aversions due to religion--Puritan, Quaker
and Church of England, intercolonial tariffs and what not. For the
planter-class we were mere traders; they for us were men too lightly
presumed to live an idle life of gambling, sport and hard drinking--a
life foreign to ours.
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