He spoke in capital letters, a few of which I have preserved, on our National Spirit, which, he had sensed, was Homogeneous and in Ethical Contact throughout--Unconscious but Vitally Existent. That was his Estimate of our Racial Complex. It was an Asset, but a Democracy postulating genuine Ideals should be more multitudinously-minded and diverse in Outlook. I assented to everything in a voice that would have drawn confidences from letter-boxes. He next touched on the Collective Outlook of Democracy, and thence glanced at Herd Impulse, and the counterbalancing necessity for Individual Self-Expression. Here he began to search his pockets, sighing heavily from time to time. “Before my wife died, sir, I was rated a one-hundred-per-cent. American. I am now--but.... Have you ever in Our Literature read a book called _The Man Without a Country_? I’m him!” He still rummaged, but there was a sawing noise behind the face. “And you may say, first and last, drink did it!” he added. The noise resumed. Evidently he was laughing, so I laughed too. After all, if a man must drink, what better lair than a caravan? At his next words I repented. “On my return back home after her burial, I first received my Primal Urge towards Self-Expression. Till then I had never realised myself.... Ah!” He had found it at last in a breast pocket--a lank and knotty cigar. “And what, sir, is your genuine Opinion of Prohibition?” he asked when the butt had been moistened to his liking. “Oh!--er! It’s a--a gallant adventure!” I babbled, for somehow I had tuned myself to listen-in to tales of other things. He turned towards me slowly. “The Revelation _qua_ Prohibition that came to me on my return back home from her funeral was _not_ along those lines. This is the Platform _I_ stood on.” I became, thenceforward, one of vast crowds being addressed from that Platform. “There are Races, sir, which have been secluded since their origin from the microbes--the necessary and beneficent microbes--of Civ’lisation. Once those microbes are introdooced to ’em, those races re-act precisely in proportion to their previous immunity _or_ Racial Virginity. Measles, which I’ve had twice and never laid by for, are as fatal to the Papuan as pneumonic plague to the White. Alcohol, for them, is disaster, degeneration, and death. Why? You can’t get ahead of Cause and Effect. Protect any race from its natural and God-given bacteria and you automatically create the culture for its decay, when that protection is removed. That, sir, is my Thesis.” The unlit cigar between his lips circled slowly, but I had no desire to laugh.