Jack had come closer to him, and was now holding him by the arm.
"What's a man's life for, anyhow? Is it just to save up like rotten pears on a shelf, in the hopes that one day it'll rot into a pink canary or something of that?"
"No," said Somers.
"What we want in Australia," said Jack, "isn't a statesman, not yet. It's a set of chaps with some guts in them, who'll obey orders when they find a man who'll give the orders."
"Yes."
"And we've got such men—we've got them. But we want to see our way clear. We don't never feel quite sure enough over here. That's where it is. We sound as sure as a gas-explosion. But it's all bang and no bump. We s'll never raise no lids. We shall only raise the roof—or our politicians will—with shouting. Because we're never quite sure. We know it when we meet you English people. You're a lot surer than we are. But you're mostly bigger fools as well. It takes a fool to be sure of himself, sometimes."
"Fact."
"And there's where it is. Most Englishmen are too big cocked-up fools for us. And there you are. Their sureness may help them along to the end of the road, but they haven't the wit to turn a corner: not a proper corner. And we can see it. They can only go back on themselves."
"Yes."
"You're the only man I've met who seems to me sure of himself and what he means. I may be mistaken, but that's how it seems to me. And William James knows it too. But it's my belief William James doesn't want you to come in, because it would spoil his little game."
"I don't understand."
"I know you don't. Now, look here. This is absolutely between ourselves, now, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Certain?"
"Yes."
Jack was silent for a time. Then he looked round the almost dark shore. The stars were shining overhead.
"Give me your hand then," said Jack.
