"All right; I think we two together are as good as any half-bred
sharper on this coast, to put it gracefully."
Jack Meredith lighted a fresh cigarette, and leant back with the
somewhat exaggerated grace of movement which was in reality partly
attributable to natural litheness. For some time they smoked in
silence, subject to the influence of the dreamy tropic night.
Across the river some belated bird was calling continuously and
cautiously for its mate. At times the splashing movements of a
crocodile broke the smooth silence of the water. Overhead the air
was luminous with that night-glow which never speaks to the senses
in latitudes above the teens.
There is something in man's nature that inclines him
sympathetically--almost respectfully--towards a mental inferior.
Moreover, the feeling, whatever it may be, is rarely, if ever, found
in women. A man does not openly triumph in victory, as do women.
One sees an easy victor--at lawn tennis, for instance--go to his
vanquished foe, wiping vigorously a brow that is scarcely damp, and
explaining more or less lamely how it came about. But the same
rarely happens in the "ladies' singles." What, to quote another
instance, is more profound than the contempt bestowed by the girl
with the good figure upon her who has no figure at all? Without
claiming the virtue of a greater generosity for the sex, one may,
perhaps, assume that men learn by experience the danger of despising
any man.
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