"Now, it's just like this," Davis was saying to McLean, "Here we are,
all three of us turned out into the world like a lot of little
sparrows pitched out of the nest, and what are we going to do? Of
course it's easy enough for you, McLean, but what are my grave friend
with the nasty black briar, and I, your humble servant, to do? In what
wilderness are we to pitch our tents and where is our manna coming
from?"

"Oh, well, the world owes us all a living," said McLean.

"Hackneyed, but true. Of course it does; but every time a colored man
goes around to collect, the world throws up its hands and yells
'insolvent'--eh, Halliday?"

Halliday took his pipe from his mouth as if he were going to say
something. Then he put it back without speaking and looked
meditatively through the blue smoke.

"I'm right," Davis went on, "to begin with, we colored people haven't
any show here. Now, if we could go to Central or South America, or
some place like that,--but hang it all, who wants to go thousands of
miles away from home to earn a little bread and butter?"

"There's India and the young Englishmen, if I remember rightly," said
McLean.

"Oh, yes, that's all right, with the Cabots and Drake and Sir John
Franklin behind them. Their traditions, their blood, all that they
know makes them willing to go 'where there ain't no ten commandments