board shack, subsist largely on rice, labor from daylight to dark and
force your wife and daughter to labor with you in the fields? Would
you care to live in a kennel and never read a book or take an interest
in public affairs or thrill at a sunset or consider that you really
ought to contribute a dollar toward starving childhood in Europe?
Would you?"

"You paint a sorry picture, Farrel." Parker was evasive.

"I paint what I see before me," he answered doggedly. "This--in five
years. And if this be progress as we view progress--if this be
desirable industrial or agricultural evolution, then I'm out of tune
with my world and my times, and as soon as I am certain of it I'll blow
my brains out."

Parker chuckled at this outburst and Kay prodded him with her elbow--a
warning prod. The conversation languished immediately. Don Mike sat
staring out upon the little green farms and the little brown men and
women who toiled on them.

"Angry, Don Mike?" the girl asked presently. He bent upon her a glance
of infinite sadness.

"No, my dear girl, just feeling a little depressed. It's hard for a
man who loves his country so well that he would gladly die a thousand
dreadful deaths for it, to have to fight the disloyal thought that
perhaps, after all, it isn't really worth fighting for and dying for.
If we only had the courage and the foresight and the firmness of the
Australians and New Zealanders! Why, Kay, those sane people will not
even permit an Indian prince--a British subject, forsooth--to enter